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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: Chapter 11

Long ago in a distant land:

  • Aku flung a samurai into the futurepast
  • Azrehs (Greweh of,) flung a simian into the futurepod
    • COINCIDENCE?! I THINK NOT
  • Impromptu cuddle piles are now a thing apparently
    • I told you they were all cuddlers at the beginning of this didn’t I?
      • Furries are still not invited, though. They just make everything weird.
  • Bill boredly babbles bellicosely

Now, in [current year]:

  • BOSS FIGHT
  • Do you accept a collect call from “SsssssSsSSSssssSsSSssSS. S. SSs.”?
  • Regional knows
    • run

————————————————————————————————————

“Shanghai. Sexytimes. Sumatra?” Bill ventured, idly looking at the flashing indicator in a block-claw script.

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

“Figured. Whelp. Let’s review, shall we?”

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?” The construction done responded, awaiting Bill’s input.

“Freshman.”

“?FRESHAHN. RELK## ANEN REK’K&** FR.?”

“Grimace.”

“?GRENHS. EW#$ DREEF SCH^*#.?”

“Kardashian” Bill said, groaning internally.

“?RRERHG. KRARDRESHN REK’KK %%$KRF.” The drone replied, matter-of-factly. Although Bill was doing his best to not anthropomorphize the hunk of steel and electronics, he couldn’t help but think the drone was copping attitude with him.

The smug bastard. Not like it’s his fault he doesn’t have the right mouth to make mouthsounds!

“Whelp. I’ve got another 5 minutes or so until you default back to the first error, so let’s-“

“?RRERK. RRERHG. KRARDRESHN REK’KK %%$KRF.”

“-try what we can. Uh. Shake-and-bake. Simpsons. I don’t fuckin’ know – Shaka Zulu?” Bill said, exasperatedly throwing his hands up in the air.

“SHAKASHZUL.” The drone said with a confirmation that just felt exasperated.

“Wait no fuckin way-” Bill perked up, as all around him screens began to turn on. Although he was still a far cry away from being able to do anything, the fact that he could get the damn input loop to turn off was a massive victory. As blue-filtered cameras turned on, Bill saw a 360 degree view around his probe – as if the walls melted away. To be honest, he was really intrigued; most equipment he used has been tuned to human physiology, so to see things unfiltered was a surprising treat. Well. It was, until the external cameras tried to calibrate to human physiology as opposed to Dorarizin.

Bill swallowed the nausea and vertigo that seemed to overwhelm him as the cameras exploded in a kaleidoscope of viewpoints – his brain saw them as random, but the construction drone computer was doing it’s best, dangit – it’s not it’s fault that human eyes are too small, too close – the fields of vision began to overlap and swim as the drone attempted to compensate.

Bill tried to look straight ahead and found he couldn’t; the world looked like an MC Escher painting, and considering the only thing grounding him to reality was the seat he was currently gripping as hard as possible he felt he was doing a great job not getting sick. That is, until he took a hesitant glance to his right and found something to focus on.

That something happened to be his friend, Grashak, and his coworker, Greweh, being mauled by a hoard of his coworkers.

“JESUS CHRIST! STOP THAT – I’M OK! PLEASE – HEY! HEY! Goddamnit!” Bill cursed, his worry over the treatment of his friends giving him focus, driving out the background nausea. He wiggled into the seat, trying to find anything that would help – either to stop the mauling, because he was still alive and mob justice is a farce, or to help physically break up the-

His bare foot struck against something that felt oddly like a boot control harness. With another tentative nudge, he felt it try to close around his foot – but then release. That didn’t mean he couldn’t use it, though – just that he wouldn’t have as much control as he’d like. Looking up, he realized a few feet above his head were the grips for his hands; based on his size he’d have to choose either hands or feet to work at a time.

Bill started to muse; apparently the pilot rested on his back in this drone, and was buckled in – which would make sense, as there’s no “down” in zero gravity – and then operated as normal. That must mean the seat he was in was meant to be in hard vacuum, so it probably contained some sort of medical or stasis capab-

A sharp whine-bark broke his thought as the external microphones finally kicked on, and the savagery of the battle before him forced his hand.



“{HE’S OK! HE’S ALIVE! HE’S – GERWZEN, YOUR NOSE IS FUCKING ICE}” Greweh cried as he was swarmed with the second round of concerned coworkers, the first dozen or so untangling themselves from Grashak and each other. And, to his credit, his plan was working – albeit with a little more violent impact than he had hoped. Most of the males weren’t so demanding that they’d go for a second scenting, and the females, well….

…it’s not like he wasn’t used to being tangled with a few of them at a time. The fact that one of them happened to be that iron-jaw Rzengrth-of-Frrgrel from Accounting notwithstanding, he was having an OK time of things. As the ladies reluctantly stood up he crouched, shaking himself clear again. Greweh had just been taken down by another 9 or 10 coworkers, but the sheer amount of tangled bodies in the way not only drew attention but also slowed down the overall working-pack. Once enough of them calmed down to have things explained, they started to run interference – either holding other packmates at bay, misdirecting them, or in the case of the calmer ones just explaining what was going on.

Grashak stood to his full height, nodding to himself. Yes, everything would work out – but by the barest of margins.

It was at this time that the construction drone holding [Bill] lurched forward.



Zgren-Nragren-of-Arzerghr was a tired, tired man. Even fathering and raising 4 dozen pups hadn’t worked him this hard.

Although, he had every right to be; He was a Sector-General and as such, always had far too much on his plate at any given time. Even if you completely ignore the logistical nightmare of managing 10,000 planets, moons and associated celestial bodies, you still have to handle the trade between them, managing their assorted and independent police forces, checking and updating contraband laws (where applicable), moving personnel and all the accouterments that come with families, handling the various religious and social claims….

…and then there were the [Humans]. By the first pack, he hated the [Humans]. Why did their home world have to be under his jurisdiction?! The worst part is, it wasn’t even their fault! After their uplift started and approved media began circulating in the empire, the demand to have a [Human] posted on-staff skyrocketed. He checked historical logs – not even when the [Jornissians] were discovered or the [Karnak] joined the Senate was there such a high demand. Sure, there was always that initial pique of curiosity, but after that things tended to level out somewhat.

The demand for [Humans] just grew, and grew, and grew. Wherever a [Human] went, it seemed, every single Dorarizin put in a request for another one. The paperwork that generated combined with the personnel use – by the Pale Moon’s sake, he had people calling in political favors to have a [Human] put on-staff in their planetary capital!

He stared forlornly at the stack of reports, paperwork, bribes, threats and entreaties that sat on his desk. According to his special-team staff (who he had to pull from other teams specifically to handle demands for [Humans]), this was just the “VIP of the VIP” stack. The “VIP” stack occupied his secretary’s entire office.

Requests from the general public were simply incinerated.

There was a gentle but firm scrape at the post, and Rezfran grunted. His secretary – well, one of them – simply began to talk. “{I have an urgent call from Adm. Var’Shrak of [Jornissian] Federated Navy-}”

“{Does it have to do with [humans]?}”

“{Uh, yes sir, bu-}”

“{Then it goes in the pile – unless he’s offering to give us their [humans], in which case we’ll only be short another 112 billion to fill these requests.}”

“{Sir, I can’t say. It’s-}”

“{What do you mean, you can’t say? Put it in the pile and sometime this decade we’ll-}”

“{Sir it’s thread-encrypted. It’s marked urgent, and it has to do with [humans]. That’s all I can say.}”

Rezfran looked up from his terminal and, with a great show of effort, reared back to sit on his haunches. “{Alright, I’ll bite. Is this admiral… Var’Shrak, you said, on active duty?}”

“{Yes.}”

Rezfran clicked his teeth together. [Humans], for very obvious reasons, were not allowed near anything military, be it a simple sensor outpost or a star destroyer. This means it’s not a simple ‘please give us a [Human]’ request – and even if it was, the [Jornissians] had a counterpart to him within their federation that would handle such things.

“{Emergency communique?}”

“{Thread-Encrypted, from the bridge Stinging Venom of [Jornissian] Federated Navy.}”

“{Pre-recorded?}”

“{Live.}”

Rezfran sighed, and waved his secretary away. “{Send him through and privacy close the office.}”

“{Yes sir.}”

Rezfran looked back down at his terminal, wiping away the ‘toddler [human]’ screensaver and refreshing his programs.

With a chime the screen changed to a reclining [Jornissian] in obvious military regalia – the rest of his crew, if there were any present, had been filtered out.

“[I greet you in peace, Zgren-Rezfran-of-Arzerghr. May your scent carry far.]”

“{Hah! So polite – most people who call me like this have something burning in the background.}” The Dorarizin and the Jornissian shared what to each species was their version of a grin. “{Ah well. I greet you in peace, Admiral Var’Shrak of [Jornissian] Federated Navy. May you only have warm days. Now.}”

Rezfran’s face lost some of it’s charm, falling back into his bureaucratic mode. “{What’s wrong and why me?}”

“[Hm! I came to you, because I was told you can handle things with discretion-]”

“{I’m not smuggling [Humans] for you.}”

The Jornissian started, then laughed. “[By Sotek-who-circles-the-World, you assume the worst! No, I just want clarification on something I pulled from a [Human] terminal from our ship, Celestial Scale. Please review the attached file – I’ll wait.]”

A second indicator appeared on his screen, and with a practiced wave of his hand a badly-damaged movie clip began to play. It was some Jornissian military schlock – par for the course when it came to the initial media exchange, but….

Rezfran furrowed his brow as the movie looped.

“[Ah. So this is new to you as well.]” Var’Shrak mused, coiling in on himself. “[I had hoped you would have come across something like this in your records…I don’t want to think the [Humans] are mocking us, but, we’ve never seen anything like this before.]”

Rezfran remained silent as the movie looped a third time.

“{I think – if you’ll give me some time – I will figure this out.}” he finally spoke, beginning to make furious notes – programs and windows popping open to receive commands and then immediately shut down. “{I don’t have access to military-grade encryption, of course, so leave with me the name of a subordinate to contact. I trust you want this research done discreetly-}”

“[Of course. I don’t want to make a fuss in the senate otherwise.]”

“{Mmm. I’ll get back to you when I can.}”

“[Thank you. Loam under your claws, Zgren-Rezfran-of-Arzerghr.]”

“{Yes. See all things clearly, Admiral Var’Shrak of [Jornissian] Federated Navy.}” He responded, and the call was terminated. Almost immediately, a second encrypted channel was formed – civil government encryption wasn’t the best, but it would prove to be a hassle for anyone trying to break it – and Rezfran made a call to his eldest daughter.



The charging cables strained before ultimately snapping, Construction drone CX-4129 taking a heavy step forward. The top half of the drone flopped aimlessly, bonelessly backwards as CX-4129 completed another step.

“{….oh come on.}” Greweh murmured under a pile of coworkers. “{Did that cute idiot really try to turn the thing on?!}”

“{EVERYONE BACK!}” Roared Sgt. Rauleh, and as one her working-pack obeyed, a semicircle forming around the manned drone. “{Is the drone Malfunctioning – ENGINEERING, REPORT.}”

A Dorarizin called out as CX-4129 took a third step forward, then stood still, spinning it’s manipulator grips clockwise. “{No Ma’am! Everything was orange as of 2 days ago!}”

“{Then what the HELL is going on?! It’s acting like…}” Rauleh trailed off as CX-4129 suddenly turned it’s upper torso to the right and took another step forward. “{Oh. Oh by the last hunt GREWEH-}”

“{HE HAD SUCH DEEP EYES-}”

“{GREWEH DID YOU PUT HIM IN A DRONE AND NOT CALIBRATE IT?!}”

Greweh was on all fours, fur bristled, teeth bared at the Sargent – not that it would do him any good, but to be fair he’s had a long day and his hind-brain was starting to take over.

“[CONFECTIONARY]” Boomed CX-4129, as it’s internal microphone kicked in and everyone’s translators turned on. There was the sound of a few grunts and some heavy breathing, as all eyes eventually trained back on Greweh. “{LOOK IT’S NOT MY FAULT}”

“[RETURNED ITEMS]” Agreed CX-4129, as it started to make it’s way forward towards the mining probe. “[PEACE CHAINS UH FOOT UM FRUITS PILE MEAT.]”

“{We need to shut it down – he could hurt himself in there, not counting the damage to the station! Engineering-}”

“{There’s 5 battery tabs on the suit}” The engineer began, “{- he didn’t have his EVA battery installed, so he’s running purely off emergency power. That gives him at least 5 hours at his current burn rate, but that drops proportionally for every tab we pull out-}”

CX-4129 finally made it to the mining probe, and as if to make a point swung his still-rotating upper torso into it, breaking the rails that fastened the probe to the deck. “[ACCIDENT FORGIVENESS SKULL PAIN.]” It explained, manipulator hands still rotating.

“{SMALL BITES.}” Yelled Rauleh as the crew maintained it’s concerned circletm around the construction drone.

“{Pull out the green squares-}”

“{YOU HEARD HIM! WHEN POSSIBLE, JUMP ONTO [Bill]’s FRAME, PULL THE GREEN SQUARES. GO GO GO-}”

Her crew, pencil-pushers and desk-jockeys to a person, summoned the will of the hunt. As one, they converged on the drone in blindingly-fast speed.

Unfortunately, in her haste to check on [Bill]’s status, Rauleh never turned off her comm impant, and the very hand signal she used to lead her troops into battle also accepted a call from her papa.



The call connected almost immediately, and Rezfran smiled softly. Old pack tales prove true, even 10,000 years removed from their homeworld, “every father dotes on the first”. Although he would never do something as crass as true nepotism, he may have… pulled a few strings to get a [human] onboard her ship, per her request. It had been only 2 or so years since he last physically saw Rauleh, and he mused that she must be very excited to hear from her old man if she patched him through so quickly. Maybe she could help crack this mystery for her old man (and possibly get another small promotion as thanks).

“{Hello my little sweet meat-}”

“{WATCH FOR HIS ARMS, PACK DAMN YOU. DORFREZ, TRY TO TAKE OUT HIS EYES – CUT HIS EYES}”

Rezfran blinked and checked the connection – audio only, final destination was Rauleh’s implant, so surely-

“{GOOD JOB – TAKE OUT THE OTHER CORE ON HIS FRONT. STOP HIM FROM DESTROYING THE STATION!}”

Rezfran gritted his teeth. If pirates were so foolish as to raid his daughter’s station, there would most definitely be hell to pay. Swearing oaths to bury the criminals in a lifetime maze of red tape, Rezfran distastefully overrode his daughter’s implant limiters, giving him access to everything she sees and hears. He immediately is greeted by the floor as his daughter ducks as a construction drone with a half-dozen Dorarizin on it swings a giant arm in a lazy arc, utterly smashing an emergency wash station.

“{RAULEH BY THE FIRST PACK WHAT IS GOING ON?!}” Rezfran roars in his office – and in his daugher’s ears.

“{DAD?!}” Rauleh cries, and as one every crewmember froze.



“NO OK LOOK IT WAS AN ACCIDENT PLEASE CALM DOWN STOP MAULING GRAPES HE WAS SWEET AND I FELT SAFE IN HIS ARMS-“

Bill was yelling hysterically as he alternated pumping foot pedals and then hopping up to grasp the arm controls until his grip tired, whereupon he’d fall back down and work the feet. It was slow, terrifying going – somehow he had managed to make the torso continue to spin to the left, his “hands” kept rotating, but he was walking “forward”. Well. Walking towards the mining probe.

Bill attempted to pat the probe and explain himself. Instead, he ended up headbutting the probe off it’s rails, the impact bouncing him around the cockpit. “FUCK, SORRY, HIT MY HEAD.”

His vision swam – wait, no, that was normal in this cockpit. He looked around at his coworkers – his friends, cuddlebuddies, and Greweh. At least they had stopped mauling each other, and were barking – eer, talking it out.

Bill breathed a sigh of relief as his upper torso rotated. “Thank-FUCK!” he cried out, as the Dorarizin suddenly leapt onto him. His coworkers were upon him, teeth and claw slashing and biting into the metal that provided the only semblance of protection he had. Bill screamed as he felt the protest of metal, as the alarms started to go off, as his vision swam with sharp teeth, pointed claws and eyes that held fury. While coherent thought still had him, he wondered if by breaking up the fight between them they now viewed him as the new threat, and united to take him down – common enemy and all that.

It was around this time that coherent thought decided to take a break, and with pants-shitting fear Bill’s hind-brain finally got the controls.

“PREDATOR” Bill’s hind-brain said, and Bill agreed.

“RUN” Bill’s hind-brain said, and Bill tensed up – unable to see a path as his drone – as he lurched forward, trying to grab the wall to steady himself. Always, on every screen, more teeth, more claws, more death.

Bill’s hind-brain thought for a moment, shrugged, and pulled the other lever. “FIGHT.”

Screaming, Bill reached up and gripped the hand controls – both satisfying his primal urge to climb from danger AND to have something to beat the beasts back with. His drone arm clamped down on something, and with a high-pitched squeal he brought his new weapon to bear.



“{No time to exp- no! NO. Look, the [Human] is stuck in the drone – Look, OK. I KNOW. IT’S NOT MY FAULT!}” Rauleh roared as she was grilled subvocally by the Regional Head, her father.

“{Not fun now, is it?}” Greweh smugly asked, already certain that his career was destroyed. The only response Rauleh gave him was an exasperated growling yell – until a strong, pressurized stream of water slammed into her, pushing the Sargent back 15 meters.

His implant crackled to life as a voice he had only heard in the yearly briefing roared oaths at him and everyone else alive.

Greweh turned towards [Bill] and what was left of CX-4129. Somehow he had pulled the water main from the emergency wash tank out of the tank itself, separating it from it’s pressure valve. Those hoses were connected directly to their main water storage – [Bill] had a good 7,500 tons of water to play with before it ran dry.

He was using those thousands of tons of water to great effect: As his drone rotated he was blasting every crewmember he could find, washing them far and away from his drone. The poor bastards who were actually on the drone had it the worst, though: freezing cold water, a spinning perspective and not enough purchase to be effective – but just enough to not get flung off and hosed down. Every so often one would begin to slip – some would fall, some would find more purchase, but none of them could continue to power down the drone.

Greweh steeled himself. It seemed [Bill] was avoiding hitting him. This was a welcome surprise, as he was in no mood to be hosed down twice in one day. He looked past the drone to Grashak, who was tracking the last remaining power core on the drone’s body. They shared a wordless glance – he was being spared, too. Dry = traction….

Greweh really didn’t want to act as bait, but as another one of his crewmates skidded past him in a torrent of water, he pursed his lips. “{I fucking hate middle shifts.}”

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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: Chapter 10

LAST EPISODE OF GREWREH, [HUMAN] WISPERER:

  • Showers are fun times, especially when they stop injuries
  • [Humans] apparently…are just way too lewd. Free love and all that, I guess?
  • If your [Human] makes urgent yipping noises, back or head rubs will calm them down
  • [Humans] have an innate desire to hug. If you don’t wish to hug your [Human], providing soft blankets will do in a pinch.
  • Above all else, remember: You’re the alpha

THIS EPISODE OF [BILL] la [BILL]:

  • We will create a weapon to surpass metal gear
  • Grashak-of-Arhraf sacrifices himself. RIP.
  • Greweh gets caught with his pants down. It’s not what it looks like, I swear.

A/N: Holy fuck this chapter got away from me – I thought I could wrap up the doggo arc here but nope. This is my longest shitpost yet.

————————————————————————————————————

To her crew, Rauleh-of-Nragren’s tense silence was unusual, but not terribly uncommon; there was always a little bit of anxiety that rippled through the station crew once the first few kinetic probes were launched. Spectrometry gave a rich amount of data, especially with the sensor suite they were packing…but nothing beat actually sifting through the crust itself.

Profitability engineers therefore had some of the most boring and most high-pressure jobs in the crew: do nothing until the probe arrived, and then make a decision on the quantity and ease of obtaining the material on this moon to make or break this current venture. As a post-scarcity society it’s not like there was any actual currency on the line, but, the empire still used resources and nobody wanted to man or command a station that was a net drain.

Although everyone was still “at work”, many sets of eyes regularly checked Rauleh’s body language. Rauleh-of-Nragren’s ears were perked forward, her back ramrod stiff, forepaws pawing her station’s seat. The staccato beat of her claws against diamond-carbide reinforced aluminum showing her anxious, but not worried.

Par for the course, really.

“{…say that again to me, but slowly.}” she muttered, her change in tone and voice catching some of the crew’s attention. It would be a one-sided conversation; receiving a call via implant provides privacy at the cost of making the user seem like a lunatic. The fact that the metal under her claws began to squeal in protest as her pawing turned into a grip didn’t help.

“{No! He – Damn your fur, Greweh! If [Bill] is injured you’re not supposed to move him!}” Rauleh bellowed, forgetting her inside voice – and getting the attention of her entire crew. “{How do you know he doesn’t have a concussion?! Or worse – his lungs could be damaged! There’s an atmo tank right next to the emergency st-}” With a growl she caught herself, blinking away a few status indicators with absent-minded acknowledgements. “{N-no! No don’t – look. I know you’re not a medic, alright? If he’s walking and up and about he’s probably fine, but that doesn’t mean you continue to risk injury! Take him back to the hangar and wait for us!}”

Rauleh paced back and forth, waving her hand at indicators only she could see. The crew status could wait – this was far more important. “{YES, escort him! He doesn’t have his communicator, we can’t track him through station systems! YES. No. NO.}”

More indicators. More distractions. More dismissals with emphatic flailing of her arms. “{STOP IT. Do what I say and you won’t be written up for not protecting our [Human] – YES, because he should have been in an environmental suit and he wasn’t! YES. No – I’m sending Dr.Ngralh-of-Drezneh to the hangar and you two better be there, and he better be in a medical pod. Yes. Well if you can’t find one just use any pilot capsule – they’re programmed for both biometrics and-}”

Rauleh-of-Nragren suddenly blinked, her tirade and Greweh’s protests ignored. Everything but her was silent… way too silent. ‘Why is my command deck empty?‘ she thought. With a bit of morbid curiosity, she pulled up the 20-some odd notifications she dismissed in haste.

‘Brera-of-Arhraz request dismissal from workstation: Acknowledged/Approved’

‘Egrezre-of-Frgan request dismissal from workstation: Acknowledged/Approved’

‘Zranf-of-Delzreg request dismissal from workstation: Acknowledged/Approved’

‘Grawfren-of-Rrelren request dismissal from workstation: Acknowledged/Approved’

. . .

Rauleh-of-Nragren swore, furiously, over the protests of an increasingly panicking Greweh.



“{No! Look he’s fine! He’s FINE.}” Greweh explained, his hands opening in a pleading gesture to no one. “{He was responsive and even joking! He could breathe! I checked! And his skin is pink and half of them are pink anyway so-}”

He paced back and forth infront of a silent, but curious [Bill], his footsteps the only sound in the empty corridor. “{Look I’m not a doctor, I don’t know [Human] anatomy like that, I’m not even on his sleep rotat-}” Greweh exhaled, an irritated growl escaping his lips.

“{Alright so I’ll just send him back by himself while I calibrate a factory, I don’t need to escort him pe- Really? It’s just down the hallway he can turn arou- Look all I’m-}”

In the back of his mind, Greweh wondered what this all looked like to [Bill]. Did [Bill] think he had lost his mind? Maybe the moondust had driven him insane? [Bill]’s eyes never left him, and he never moved.

“{Look, let’s just be efficient here with our time – You can’t write me up over this, how is this my fault – So I’m supposed to make sure he’s – Graah!}” Another bark of frustration, but at this point he didn’t care. Rauleh was chasing in her territory, and it was getting old. “{FINE. But if I activate one doesn’t that send a signal to Regional? I don’t know what the new ones look like – FINE. I’ll use a capsule then! Will you calm down now?!}”

There was silence, if only for a moment, before the cursing began. “{It’s not that bad! It’s not THAT BA- Pack damn you!}” Greweh, tired of being chewed out over an unforseeable accident, cut communications with his superior.

If he was going to be written up, it’d be for insubordination…. but not for [Human] abuse.

With his hands he motioned for [Bill] to follow him back to the hangar. Reluctantly, he followed.



Grashak-of-Arhraf was running, breathlessly, his only saving grace being that he worked closer to the hangar than the rest of the crew. “{Hah – no, YOU don’t understand! You need to den with him, now.}”

“{Why is everyone ordering me around?! I don’t see wh-}” Greweh began to whine, but Grashak cut him off immediately.

“{Listen. To. Me. He doesn’t have any scent glands, he can’t mark anything – including himself.}”

There was a brief pause. “{No. Nip the right one.}”

“{You took the basic [Human] care course, but you didn’t sit through the advanced class because you’re not one of his denmates. Scent him, right now. Just do it.}”

There was a pause in the communication, and Grashak slammed against a corridor intersection’s wall, panting heavily.

No matter the race, running while talking sucked.

“{Ok, I had to pat him a couple times to calm him down, but yeah. He smells…I. Like something. It’s tickling the back of my mind-}”

“{Pups.}” Grashak said, swallowing hard before he began to run towards the hangar. “{Like a newborn pup.}”

For the first time today, Greweh began to swear.



‘Well that didn’t sound good’ Bill thought to himself as he powerwalked/half-jogged behind an irritated, damp killing machine back the way they came.

“I guess they didn’t want us to wander off?””?Rrealah. N’Gr*srkrll?”

“I know. Gargling rocks sucks, dude. Almost as much as this security blanket. You know it’s super heavy? Gotta be at least 20lbs.”

“?Grrrrhns. Ra! Ng’%hasn-t’ttk.?”

“Yeah. I figure this is your version of our mylar blankets. But I gotta say, with all this runnin’ around – I’m sweating like a dog.” Bill grinned, looking up at Grapes. “Get it? Like a dog? Cause, yanno, the thing with the convergent evolution and…”

The Hangar doors hissed open again, presenting the crime scene in all it’s glory. The hill of powder remained behind the probe, as well as a gray streak from that to the showerwasher9000. Scraps of clothing littered the trail – a boot here, glove there, half of a shirt tossed haphazardly to the side –

“Still no sign of my pants.” Bill mumbled, looking around. He felt a gentle pat on his head and turned to Grapes, who was pointing at one of the construction drones nearby, and who began to play charades.

“Swimming… no. Climb? Me.” Bill pointed to himself and Grapes ‘nodded’, and then pointed to the open egg-like control suite nestled within the machine itself. “Me, drone station. Oh. No, no.” Bill shook his head and tapped where his communicator would rest, trying to indicate that he couldn’t read nor control such heavy machinery and that it would be negligent at best, and suicide at worst, to put him in it.

Insistently, the same hand signals were mimed. ‘You, egg. YOU egg. Mouth’ no, that’s not right, ‘shut egg’. Ok.

Then, some new gestures: ‘Me, you, Egg….’

Ears flicked back, Grapes started to hug himself, hands going up and do-

WOAH. No way. Bill cleared his throat, a blush creeping up his neck. “I mean, look, it’s not that I’m speciest or anti-gay or anything – I mean, ok, everyone experiments in college, but that was a long time ago-

Bill’s complaint died in his throat at the Dorarizin’s continued insistence. Doing such a thing would….scent him. Perhaps very potently. And very bad thingstm happened when you weren’t scented aboard a Dorarizin vessel. And it’s not like their race didn’t have some appeal…

“…Why’s the aliens always gotta do the anal probing? Why’s this gotta be a thing.” Bill grumbled, walking down the side of the hangar to the construction drone docking bay, shedding his blanket.

“Nobody ever realized that $20 is $20 shirt was a joke…”



“{Ok. Breathe, Greweh}”

The [Human] lay down on the seat, far too small to effectively fill it – his naked form sinking into the multi-g rated foam to contour around his body. He was breathing heavily, and as Greweh undressed he tried to tell himself that didn’t know why.

That was a lie. That look the [Human] was giving him was…

Greweh swallowed, hard. He was no [Human]-mater, sure, and even if he was he wouldn’t pack with one, but the gaze that [Bill] is piercing him with now made him seriously consider that and… other things.

Slowly he lowered himself into the pod, his weight pressing down on the [Human] – two small hands shot up to grip the fur on his chest, balled fists tugging at him slightly. He reached up with his forepaws once his hips rested on the [Human]’s thighs, placing a clawed hand on either side of his shoulders. He kneaded the foam absentmindedly and leaned forward, his eyes now staring deep into [Bill]’s

They were so small, and yet, so beautiful. The space between them closed, Greweh seeming to surround and engulf [Bill]’s tiny, hot bod-

“{BY THE FIRST PACK WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, GREWEH?!}”

Reflex honed by millions of years of evolution and a lifetime of combat training and absolutely not because of surprise, Greweh flew backwards, kicking off from the drone console with all four limbs. With an unceremonious ‘WHUD’ he landed on his back a good 30 feet away from the command pod, and [Bill].

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Greweh must’ve triggered something, as the pod with a protesting [Bill] quickly snapped shut, powered on, and inserted itself fully into a construction drone.

With an agile leap Grashak-of-Arhraf slams down on the deck beside Greweh, claws digging into the metal to stop his momentum. It was only a split second before Grashak made a second leap, taclking Greweh back towards the door, fighting the entire way

“{WHAT THE HELL WAS-}” Grashak begins, swiping at the prone profitability engineer

“{I’M NOT GAY YOU SAID HE NEEDED IT-}” Greweh responds, nipping at his attacker’s wrists

“{THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT!}”

Two muzzles, baring teeth, collide for a brief second – both bites miss.

“{I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW THIS WORKS OK?!}” Greweh roars, bucking Grashak off of him

“{I MEANT JUST HUG HIM FOR A WHILE.}”

Greweh tensed up, his eyes unfocusing as the epiphany hit him full force. “{…oh.}”

“{DID YOU HONESTLY FORGET YOU HAD SCENT GLANDS ACROSS YOUR CHEST?!}”

“{……..}”

“{How – Just. We rely on you to test profi- no. Just-}” Grashak shakes his head, growling to himself. “{I’m giving you an anatomy textbook next mailcall.}”

“{….I didn’t mean to.}” Greweh mutters, sitting down on his haunches.

“{You didn’t mean to try to mate with him?}” Grashak says, tapping the construction drone. He weakly hears a few taps in response, and sighs.

“{I don’t even know anymore. His eyes were just so deep….}”

Grashak clicked his teeth.

“{Look, I’m just going to chalk all this up to having a very stressful day and we can talk about you and your newfound open den desire later-}”

Greweh protested as Grashak ambled back down the deck, picking up [Bill]’s discarded blanket.

“{Shush. Rub this all over your body.}”

Greweh blinked and looked at Grashak. “{What.}”

“{He smells like a pup and we probably have half the station – females included – on their way here. We need to buy time to get their curiosity sated and [Bill] safe. You know how delicate [Human]s are.}”

Greweh took the blanket and looked at it, contemplating silently.

“{They’d rip him apart trying to protect him.}” he murmured.

“{Yeah.}” Grashak replied, beginning to strip. “{We establish a perimeter, get his other denmates in here, get him looked at and scented properly. We lose a day or two of work, but, it’s fine. Hey.}”

The Dorarizin made eye contact, passing the blanket between them.

“{Regional never has to know.}”



“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh” Bill responded as the pod yelled at him. “Human! Human Bill Telito, Cosmic Code 11-AAB-4197-NC-V-“

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

“Fuck’s sake. HUMAN. H.U.M.A.N. BILLIAM. TELITO. COSMIC CODE 11-AAB-“

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

Bill kicked one of the screens in front of him and sighed. After he responded to the taps from outside – the universal sign of ‘are you dead in there?’ this voice just began to loop. Of course, it couldn’t recognize that he’s a human and change anything. Of course.

After being dumped on, friction-cut, stripped, pressure-washed and death-marched around the station only to end right back where he started….

He covered his face with his hands, groaning.

Then there was the whole ‘working-yourself-up-to-dick-or-be-dicked-by-an-alien-werewolf’ thing that, dare he say he was ….’anticipating’ is incorrect, and ‘excited about’ sounds wrong. It was like a force of nature about to happen, something inexorable and unstoppable and intimate and – and then suddenly THIS.

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

“Oh FUCK OFF already! I haven’t been this confused since Freshman year!”

“?FRESHAHN. RELK## ANEN REK’K&** FR.?”

Bill stopped and blinked. “Are you… kidding me. You didn’t understand literally anything else I said, but-“

“?GR’SHRAK NE’GREN RETLEH.?”

“-but you got FRESHMAN.”

“?FRESHAHN. RELK## ANEN REK’K&** FR.?”

Bill thought for a moment. It was obvious even before first contact that humans and aliens – if they existed – would most likely never speak the same language or even have the ability to speak the same language. We slap meat together to make vibrations in the air to pass information. An alien race could, hypothetically, only use pheromones – or light, or body language.

It was a blessing and a curse to learn that meatslapping was a universal constant; unfortunately not everyone slaps their meat in the same way, but that’s ok. Everyone slaps their meat the best way they know how, and translators fill in the gap – everyone goes home satisfied.

The fact that humans could partially make the correct sounds was possible, but, it would serve no purpose… just inane babble at best, and mouthsounds at worst.

“That might be my only way out.”

“?FRESHAHN. RELK## ANEN REK’K&** FR.?”

“Whelp. I’ll start on F, then: Fricassee. Frenchman. Fried Rotisserie Chicken….”



The call had gone out; [Bill]’s denmates converged on the hangar with grim determination. It was now up to Greweh and Grashak to form a Dorarizin barricade, stopping their worried comrades from opening [Bill]’s secure pod and possibly starting a grizzly tug-of-war.

“{This isn’t going to work.}”

“{The theory is sound. The females smell us, we smell like a male pup, we’re able to calm them down and divert their protective territorial instincts. His denmates and the other trained doctors arrive, we push everyone back, open the pod-}”

“{That’s not why this is going to fail.}”

“{Oh?}”

The hangar doors slid open and Greweh pointed down infront of them, to the crowd of roughly 100 other crewmembers. As the doors yawned open, they began to rush into the hangar, spreading out in confusion and concern.

“{That’s why.}”

“{GREWEH-OF-AZREHS, WHERE ARE YOU?}” Sgt. Rauleh roared.

“{Ah. Die in glory, brother.}”

At an impressive 120Km/h, Sgt. Rauleh sped forward, her claws dragging deep furrows into the metal every time they landed, pushing off almost as soon as they touched down. “{IS HE ALIVE?! WHY ARE YOU BOTH NAKED?!}”

Grashak silently, but with purpose, positioned himself directly infront of the Sargent. Skidding to a stop she slammed into him, and they tumbled to the ground.

Only the sound of curious footfalls interrupted their heavy breathing

“{Y-you’re-Wh.}”

“{Sssh… I’m safe. We’re all safe, it’s ok, it’s ok.}” Grashak murmured, forcing Rauleh’s muzzle down to his torso – the Female was tense, her body shuddering as information flooded the primal part of her mind.

Male. [Bill]. Dorarizin. [Human]. Healthy. Not in Season.

“{I need you to spread the word, ok? We’re safe, he’s safe, we’re all ok. Ok?}”

Rauleh growled lowly, her shoulders rolling as the tension in her body started to release.

“{Greweh, you’re up.}” He chirped, his grip on Rauleh loosening up.

Sighing, Greweh broadened his stance, and with a courageous roar jumped forward.

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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: Chapter 9

Last episode of Tengen Toppa kill la kill: doki doki literature club edition:

  • Bill blew up a moon
    • He really liked that
  • The Dorarizin supported him and his kinetic mining probing
  • Bill ended up pouring moondust all over his body
    • He really did not like that
  • Grashak-of-Arhraf received the “innocent boye 3 chapters running” award to much applause

In this episode of Dad Dating Simulator:

  • everything goes to shit

————————————————————————————————————

In some nebulous kinda way, everyone – well, everyone who didn’t grow up in a southern public school – knows about the composition of the moon; “it’s got the stuff earth’s got” would be a correct, if not wholly simplified and somewhat vague answer. We know there are rocks and dust and craters and ice and whatnot, and that’s about as far as the layman’s knowledge of moon geology goes.

Of course, every moon is different in some way; some are geologically active, some are ice moons, some may be made out of silica while others, carbon – the list literally goes on forever, depending on how thinly you want to split hairs.

Point being, the easiest way to determine if any given moon was worth a damn to spend time and energy on mining was to finely powder a small bit of it, capture it, and then sift through what you have. Repeat this over a few probes and you’ve got a good indicator as to what the crust of the moon is worth, and if it’d be useful to crack the celestial body to find more goodies within.

The moon the Dorarizin station had been orbiting was comprised of mostly silica, with a high aluminum and iridium content, of all things. Bill knew this, because most of it had just been dumped onto his body. Unfortunately, Bill couldn’t tell his friend Grapes a damn thing, because silica + impact heat = powdered glass. The kind of miniscule powder that will, yanno. Shred your lungs and mucous membranes, blind your eyes and burrow under your skin for years.

For the first few seconds, the dust was merely annoying. Then it began to burn.

“[Hold on! Hold on, [Bill]! Just hold your breath and stay still-]” Grewreh-of-Azrehs yelled, the heavy thudding of his paws the only indicator of movement.

…4…5….6….7….

There was the sound of things being moved, what sounded like a few things broken as well, before the heavy thuds came back. “[Ok, I have a wash-down station setup – I’m going to have to strip you as we move, ok?]” Grapes stated, not so much asking permission as explaining what was happening. Bill, for his part, continued to remain still.

…18…19…20…21…

He tensed up – painfully, as the dust ground into his clothing and skin, his body being picked up and carried with frightening speed. As he moved he felt parts of his protective clothing disappear – a boot here, a sleeve there – whatever could be carved away was, until he was dumped hastily (but gently) onto what felt like a cold, metal grate. His lungs burned – the dust caught him by surprise, and he didn’t have a full breath. It’d have to do.

…46…47….48…49…

With a heavy thud something was closed near him, and then there was rumbling. With no warning or notice, a torrent of water – a strong shower for a Dorarizin, but a biblical flood for a human – cascaded down from the ceiling onto his naked body. Under the weight of the water pressure Bill was lifted up, his conscious mind building a narrative as to what’s happening around him, while his subconscious hind-brain was screaming about drowning.

…63….64….65….66….

His lungs sucked at themselves, an imploding fire spreading across his chest. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think –

….73….74…75-

The water suddenly stopped.

“[[Bill?!] Are you alright? Your heart still beats – are you awake?!]” Grapes lowered him gently onto the metal grate as Bill responded with an explosive exhale and a wet gasp.

“Good God…” he murmured in between heaving breaths, sprawling out in place as he tried to stop his body from freaking out. “Are… all your showers….this bad?”

A damp paw gently ran down his side as his friend let out a mirthless bark of a laugh. “[Alright, humor is good. We need to get you to medical – what happened?]”

“Forgot about the latches… and the weight. Only seen ’em…. moved from a distance. Never….picked one up.”

“[But those (err-)are so light. You need to {err–*whine*} PT. At least you remembered your emergency {*yip*}]”

“Holding things above your head is hard.” Bill complained, thumbing his commbead on and off again.

“[(error:translation matrix not found) (error:translation matrix not found) {greer$.@@}]” Grapes said, nodding sagely.

“Uh. Buddy?”

“[(error:translation matrix not found)]” Grapes responded, his own hand reaching up to his commbead.

“I need a new comm bead too. I don’t think it was rated for ten-thousand PSI.” Bill said, fishing out the semi-implanted earpiece to inspect it.

“?Grrwlehshk?” Grapes muttered, pulling out his own.

“Yep…”

Bill sat back up, the metal grate creating patterns in his rear.

“…also where are my pants?”



Grewreh had a small problem, with a lower-case p: He needed to get a new commbead fabricated for himself and their human coworker. While an unfortunate delay, as a nanofabricator would have to be recalibrated for microelectronic work, it’s not the end of the world. Grewreh tried to explain this to [Bill], but stopped halfway, mentally slapping himself in the head.

‘No vocal communication, right. Uh.’ With a few hand gestures he started work on getting the point across. [Bill] seemed to pick up on this.

‘Many’ he flashed his claws open and closed ‘hours’ he pointed to the clock ‘new translators’ he pointed at both their communication beads, before pointing at his ear and then [Bill]’s head.

[Bill] pointed to his hips and his torso, then hugged himself. Grewreh tilted his head, trying to understand. A little more instantly, [Bill] pointed to himself, then Grewreh, then himself again, moving his hands up and down his bo-

WOAH. Woah. OK. Grewreh blushed profusely – although he was a progressive Dorarizin, all things considered, and [Humans] as a whole are totally adorable, but I mean – firstly, he didn’t build his den that way, and even if he did how would it work? N-not that he was curious, but just, the mechanics of it all…

Grewreh shook his head and crossed his fingers in a ‘no’. Although he was proud to save his friend’s life, he was not about to take advantage of him like that.

[Bill] seemed a little disappointed, hugging himself a little tighter. Maybe this was a [Human] custom? If so, Grewreh would have to have a talk with Rauleh about interspecies relationships…. maybe see if someone on the station would be interested.

With a thoughtful hum Grewreh opened the emergency wash chamber and stepped out, offering [Bill] a helping hand. Together they dried off using the heated air circulation of the antechamber – Grewreh making sure to stay a respectful distance away. Once dried, Grewreh handed [Bill] an emergency blanket, to which he let out some happy yipping sounds and wrapped himself tightly in the offered cloth.

“{Alright. So…well, I guess we should notify someone, right? Your boss or mine?}” Grewreh said, looking down at a much warmer and slightly fluffier [Bill].

“rr..yi! Nnr rer –ah. Bu.” [Bill] said, attempting to come a bit closer to Grewreh.

“{I agree wholeheartedly! Let’s just start with Rauleh-of-Nragren, to explain the delay, and then your denmate, on the off chance we can’t get it fabricated before you go to bed.}”

And so, Grewreh used his implants to patch into the general communications network, and made a status update, all the while dodging the hugs of an increasingly insistent [Human].



“You stupid shit can you just stop for one moment and-” Bill complained as he broke into a light jog, following Grapes as he made his way over to the side of the drone hangar.

He was concerned; such a torrent of water (and possibly cleansing agents) had most likely all but erased his scent – even to his admittedly weak nose. Rule one of living with Dorarizin was to be scented properly, or else bad things would happen.

Turns out, he was right to be concerned.

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Stories They are Smol

They are Smol: Chapter 8

When we last left our heroes:

  • Bill got a P R O M O T I ON
    • He was too cute for /u/Puncledorf, who top humanologists agree is just, way too tsun
  • Rauleh-of-Nragren is actually a responsible adult
  • There are doggo conspiracies afoot
  • Grashak-of-Arhraf still did nothing wrong

————————————————————————————————————

“[Ok! LINE UP FOR INSPECTION, YOU KNOW THE CHASE.]”

Bill was ready – obviously, for inspection of his rig, but more he was ready for today. The initial satellite launch was terrifying, sure. The subsequent ones, less so. Now?

One could say he was addicted, but you’d be wrong. There was a certain feeling of speed, of movement and freedomthat you got when you were encased in those VR chassis, that no other type of control schema had come close to. What at first had seemed disorienting soon became exciting, and with the excess amount of fuel (and, Bill would guess, some leeway from Rails) he could afford to do a few loops, spins, and chases. Turning the camera to zoom in on your own bridge, “watching” yourself disappear – that was fun. Watching magnetic storms rage across the poles of the planet you’re orbiting, and then getting clearance to fly through them? That was awesome. Seeing the binary star crest over a frozen moon, ice geysers creating rainbows a thousand miles wide….

Addiction was too light of a word. Bill was living for this.

Sgt. Rauleh-of-Nragren made her way down the line, checking helmets and straps, chiding her problem children over the usual mistakes until she made her way to Bill.

“[Well.] Rauleh smirked, “[If you were one of us, baring your teeth like that would be a challenge! Excited to launch your first probe?]”

“You have no idea. It’s basically a gigantic missile! How could I not be excited to blo-“

“[Ah! Kinetic Mining probe. Senate protocol does not allow civilian or non-military government vessels to carry such horrific things as missiles, and I’d hate to have one of your sorties reviewed by the higher-ups and you say such a crass word.]” Sgt. Rauleh-of-Nragren finished her lecture with an obvious ‘wink’ (really, a shake of the head that meant the same thing), and Bill nodded.

“Right. I am very excited to launch a Kinetic Mining probe,” Bill said, making sure to put the emphasis on thickly, “which will impact the moon with such force as to eject strata into orbit, allowing our sensors to better determine the quality of minerals and metals on this rock, and absolutely not make a fucking sweet-ass explosion.”

“[Hah! Give me your write-up before you submit it; I don’t think [fucking sweet-ass] explosion is the proper terminology.]” As she was speaking, she leaned forward and inhaled like she had done half a dozen times before, and like half a dozen times before she pulled away, smiling. “[Well. Do your best out there today, alright? Those probescost us quite enough resources, and manufacturing another one would put us off-schedule.]”

“Rails. You’re asking me to literally hit the broad side of a moon. I can do that.”



“{3 minutes out, Copy?}”

“[Copy. [Planetary-stationary] orbit achieved, waiting for go.]”

Sgt. Rauleh-of-Nragren looked over the deck, noting how most of her crew were simply ‘working’. Almost all eyes were on the mission screen, or on the little human strapped into the control chamber.

[Bill] wiggled a bit on his seat in anticipation, and Rauleh sighed.

“{You are orange for final descent. Full thrust.}”

“[Alright! Copy that – pedal to the metal!]” [Bill] crowed, and he leaned forward in his seat as the mining probe made it’s first and final descent to the moon.

“{…he does realize that leaning forward doesn’t make it go faster, right?}” Brera said, watching [Bill] from his usual spot.

Brera got another silent snap of Rauleh’s jaws in reply. “{Stop. Maybe it’s just a [Human] thing? He’s been leaning every time he makes a turn or a pivot, so…}”

“{Mm, yes, I guess so.}”

“[Oooooh I am feeling it!]”

“{Feeling what, [Bill]?}” Rauleh replied, thumbing her commbead.

“[THE NEED FOR SPEED.]”

Rauleh looked up at a silently-snickering Brera, who turned away. “{Shall I cap his probe speed?}”

“{Mmm. Set max to 15%. That should still get us up to around 200km/s. We don’t want everything flying off so quick we don’t get a read.}”

“{Yes Ma’am.}”

The moon filled most of the screen now – the targeting camera directly a little left of center on the “desired” landing spot, but still well within “preferred”.

“{[Bill] change track 5 degrees anteward of orbit or else you’ll miss desired probe landing point by 90km.}”

“[Copy that! I’ve also achieved maximum velocity; I thought these probes could go faster?]”

“{They can. They could also launch what we’re trying to measure out of range of our sensor grid far faster than I’d like, and into inter-planetary orbit. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to not have to reposition every satellite to avoid a new debris field. Samples would be nice too.}”

“[…You could’ve just told me to slow it down.]”

“{Would that have been as much fun for you? Also, Impact in 2 minutes.}”

“[Fine. Eer. Copy. I mean, it’s fine that you cut my speed and – know what? Copy.]” [Bill] mumbled to himself, idly spinning the probe’s camera about.

The moon loomed large – the main screen was completely filled, landscape detail now apparent. Rauleh sighed and straightened up, turning off her commbead to begin a long-standing station tradition.

“{PLACE YOUR BETS, HALF-MINUTE LIMIT.}”

“{5 credits on the mountain range.}” Egrezre-of-Frgan called out, followed by a few confirmations

“{Plateau! 10 credits! The one near that glacier!}” Brera-of-Arhraz countered. “{It’s big and flat and is begging to be disintegrated!}”

“{Glacier itself! 20 credits!}” another technician interrupted, followed by a few more confirmations

The gambling war continued until the minute-thirty mark, and with a wordless bark Rauleh ended the positioning.

“[What the hell was that all about? Everything ok?]”

Rauleh turned her communications matrix back on. “{Yes, [Bill], just getting all my sensor technicians to pay attention – another soundoff. You impact in one minute – picked out a spot yet?}”

“[Hmm… anything’s good?]”

“{Yep, but you better hurry. 40 seconds.}”

“[Uhhhh….]”

“{Half-minute.}”

“[The big flat thing that I can’t mi-]”

“{YES!}” Brera howled, soon being pelted with various office-trash and empty wrappers, and Rauleh waved everyone silent.

“{Impact in 7, 6 -}” Rauleh began to count

Suddenly the rest of the crew remembered it had a job to do

“{Telemetrics good.}”

“{-5, 4,-}”

“{Sensors Orange across all spectrums.}”

“{-3, 2-}”

“[WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO]” [Bill] added to the conversation, his howl of joy semi-echoing in his command console.

“{Capture drones in place, Orange.}”

“{Impact. Well done.}” Rauleh smiled, tail swaying from side to side. She quickly thumbed an override on [Bill]’s command console, switching him to longer-range sensors so he could see the larger result of his efforts.

“[Aww, [fuck] yeah. [FUCK] YEAH.]” he bounced, filled with energy. “[Aww. Can we save this video? Please? I wanna… I want this to be my happy place.]”

Laughing, Rauleh responded. “{Sure thing. We’ll add it to your file.}”



Bill was having a good day today: He blew up a moon.

Well. He fired a missile that blew up part a moon…

…he launched a kinetic mining probe that created a localized impact just forceful enough to launch debris into orbit to be scanned to determine if this moon was worth further investment.

But fuck all that noise. Bill blew up a moon and nobody was gonna tell him otherwise. Not you, not me, and not the other people he was on retrieval duty with.

“[I’m just saying, the mountain range was right there.]” The male Dorarizin complained as the drone tracked into the cargo bay, locking itself down on purpose-built rails.

“Sorry, how many moons have you blown up?” Bill countered, grinning at Grewreh-of-Azrehs (or ‘Grapes’, as Bill called him), who looked at him flatly.

“[I’m a sensor technician and a profitability engineer, I don’t control drones.]” He chided, touching a control pad in his hands. The spherical drone slowly spun in place.

“So, none. Take it from me, kid, I’m a grizzled veteran of blowing up moons, and I know where to aim.” Bill proudly stated, posing arms akimbo and stance wide.

His pose didn’t give him any hope of dodging the friendly swipe that staggered him. “[Kid! I’m 300 of your years old! If anything, you’re the child here.]”

Rolling his shoulders, Bill turned his stagger into a brisk walk, heading up to the drones ‘rear’ compartment. He pressed his hand to the oversized release panel, waiting for a confirmation from Greweh. “So does that mean I can claim child abuse?”

“[Hah! Please. Even I know you’re in mating-age. Anyway, confirmation received, panel should be opening.]”

“Yep.” Bill responded as a section of the drone seemed to melt into itself, rows of neat oversized compartments slowly sliding out.

“[Great. So now we’ll just be taking them out and putting them on the transporter-]”

Bill was still riding the high of blowing up a moon so, he didn’t really wait for Greweh to finish. His brain simply thought:

  • take box – simple
  • put box on thing – simple
  • I wield the power of a GOD
  • put more boxes on thing – simple
  • bask in glory – simple

And so, with no warming up or preparation, he pulled out and lifted one of the overhead (to him) compartments that stored a modest 45kg of powdered material. He was able to do so for roughly 2 seconds before the thing tipped, the latch popped open, and the moon had some semblance of revenge.

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They are Smol Stories

They are Smol: Chapter 7

So what have we learned so far?

  • redditors are thirsty for xeno pancakes
    • Unreasonably so
      • like damn calm down this is a family series
      • the patreon won’t be tho
  • Bill just wants to do something other than play 5D space invaders
  • Grashak-of-Arhraf did nothing wrong
  • Sgt. Rauleh-of-Nragren is gonna team up with Bill to take back the streets! And… possibly launch some satellites. Mostly that.
  • Good Boye status of Dorarizin: Yes

————————————————————————————————————

Although Technology levels among the Galactic Senate were mostly equal – again, egalitarian societies don’t mind sharing small tweaks to nanite programming or new ways to harvest a moon – how that technology was put into work for the various physiologies of the member races were all wholly unique. The Jornissians preferred to have their workstations laid out in a full circle around them – they’ll just slide under the desk and coil around to their full height to begin work. Notifications can be given as changes in sound, light or even heat – and to a human, it looks like they have some weird form of prescience.

Karnakians, well. No human serves on their ships just yet – for very obvious reasons – so we can’t speak on how theirworkstations are laid out….

But, the Dorarizin are probably one of the more unique races; walking and running can be both bipedal or quadrupedal and at rest they prefer to either be sitting back on their haunches, or on all fours. Socially, sitting back is more for relaxation and time-off, so Dorarizin leadership had to figure out how to keep their people, relaxed, at their stations for hours…. while on all fours.

The answer was staring Bill in the face; all Dorarizin workstations looked like a VR Chamber mixed with a racing motorcycle’s seat. The Operator would straddle his or her workstation, slip her hands into tactile feedback gloves, and every hand movement would be considered a “keystroke” – a 3D keyboard, wrapped around your hands, a hard-light screen giving you 360 degrees of data.

The answer was also about 3 times the most manageable size Bill could physically handle. Dorarizin high command realized this about their human counterparts, so…. adjustments have been made.

“[Ok, but do you need help up?]” Bill narrowed his eyes at Rauleh – well, narrowed and then leaned his head back so he could make eye contact – tightening the clasp on his navigator’s gloves. “No, I’m fine.”

“[I just… want to make sure. We are on a time schedule here-]” Rauleh rumbled, checking her implanted feed.

Bill looked around the command deck, blushing slightly – even though most other Dorarizin were either in their pods or busy doing, yanno, actual work, he still felt self-consious. “Rails, the helmet and harness outfit is already degrading enough – I look like a damn bobblehead. I swear if you bring in those booster stairs I will…”

Rauleh stands, unimpressed – her left ear slowly tilting forward in her species’ answer to a raised eyebrow.

“…I’ll do something. And it’ll be impressive and you-HOSHIT” Bill squirmed as Rauleh suddenly lunged, wrapping her arms around his waist. With surprising speed and delicacy she picked him up, hoisting him over the ‘hump’ and onto the seat.

“[There. Problem solved!]” Rauleh chirped, and Bill felt the headpats through his helmet.

“….m’gonna.” Bill grumbled as he scooted far forward on the seat. Muscle memory kicked in as he squeezed his legs together on a particular pad, the magnetic harness activating to clamp him down and keep his legs stationary. Leaning forward he slides his gloved hands into the cavernous openings, another set of ‘hand harnesses’ clamping around his gloves. With a nod of his head the computer lowers the VR console around him, and suddenly everything disappears.

For a brief nanosecond, Bill’s brain really thinks it’s floating about in space, and he clenches everything.



Rauleh-of-Nragren should not be staring – hell, none of them should be, and yet, here we are.

She’s taken plenty of Sapient Sensitivity courses, and of course everyone on her station took the mandatory Introduction to [Humans] and [Human] care in space, so, a small part of her brain realized she could rationalize her scrutinizing gaze as ‘making sure [Bill] didn’t fall out of his seat once the camera feeds started and hurt himself, again.’

As [Bill] tensed up, she smiled, before patting his back gently. “{You all set up in there?}”

“[Ah – yeah! Yeah I’m good.]” He responded, Rauleh’s translator matrix editing out the natural echo from him being in the chamber. Although the matrix did a good job of making him sound confident, it damn well couldn’t mask the slight rensecf scent – that tinge of fear that comes with a spiked heart rate. One of the other stationmates – a male named Brera-of-Arhraz let out a little ‘{aww}’ and was rewarded with a silent snap of Rauleh’s jaws in his direction.

“{Ok, if you’re good I’m going to step back now and start directing.}”

“[I’m fine.]”

Rauleh shrugged and made a wave of her hand, and with no indication that the deck had stopped to watch him everyone got back to work.



Bill sat in a hangar, looking over his spherical, metal body.

“[Check status thrusters.]”

Small conical indentations seemed to pivot on the surface of the sphere in tune with Bill’s motion.

“Thruster check. Gre- eer. Orange.”

“[Copy. Check status Quantum Clock?]”

“Quantum check. Orange.” Bill replied, twitching his ring finger in to send the acceptance code.

“[Copy. Check status Pneumatics?]”

“Orange.” Bill replied, pinching his thumb and index together to dismiss that particular control panel.

“[Ok. Ready for ejection from station?]”

“Aww, Rails, I thought you liked me.” Bill smirked, shifting in his seat.

“[Bill, I do, which is why I don’t want you to fail this.]” Rauleh replied, slight – what was that, apprehension? irritation? – in her voice.

Bill sobered up. “Copy that, Director. Pilot is Orange for ejection.”

A countdown timer started on his screen – a simple decreasing bar, due to the differences in written language – and once it depleted Bill was forcefully ejected from the station.

Well.

Another quirk of Dorarizin physiology is that they’re more apt to enter what Human athletes call “the zone” if you can trigger their chase or hunt instincts. This is another widely known reason for the VR pods – if you can trigger peak performance when you’re doing something relatively boring, such as launching and positioning a satellite, or docking a mining drone, then you’re more likely to get it done quicker and at a higher standard with less problems.

Bill ‘knew’ this. He also ‘knew’ that he was magnetically straddling a padded seat, a good 200m from the outer shielding of the station, surrounded by his personal friends and Humanity’s allies. He ‘knew’ his body was not the one being ejected, nor that the sudden view of the station growing rapidly smaller wasn’t truly his – neither was the inertia, nor the sudden lack of warmpth and safety.

Still. Bill was not a Dorarizin, and his little monkey brain screeched in terror at the sudden change of perspective, the perceived lack of speed and the terrifying realization of danger and clenched everything.



“{Aww.}”

Sgt. Rauleh-of-Nragren looked up at Brera-of-Arhraz with a slight scowl. “{Technician, I assume you have something to do?}”

“{No. I made sure to clear my schedule for this, Rauleh – you know that.}” Brera smiled down, leaning on the rail. “{Besides, we all want to support him as best we can.}”

“{And that support somehow means launching his drone with a sp-}” an indicator flashed on Rauleh’s implant computer, and she thumbed her commbead. “{[Bill], I need you to relax, ok? Orient yourself to the galactic median.}”

“[Aah – ah, alright! Alright. Uh. Thru- ah, engaging thrusters.]” [Bill] responded, shakily. More importantly, through her incoming sensor data Rauleh was able to establish that he was slowing his drone’s spin, leveling himself out onto the proper trajectory.

“{Ok. Well done. 15 degrees planetward on the mark I’m placing on your HUD. Do you see it now?}”

She could hear [Bill] swallow. “[Ah… yeah. Yeah. What’s that, about [two minutes] out?]”

“{Correct. Your sensor data is coming in very clear – very well done on that part. Enjoy the slow descent, look around. Just remember, you’re safe.}”

“[I knew that.]”

Rauleh turns off her comm, looking over [Bill]’s data. “{Technician, maybe you can explain to me why his drone launched with a 50m/s anteward spin?}”

Brera sighs. “{Long story short, mainly because his right hand was tilting too hard to the left-down. I don’t think we should – well. Not to assume your position, Ma’am, but. We should let him know why, but we shouldn’t let him know that he also damaged a launcher on his way out because of it.}”

“{……hm.}”

“{Getting a little protective of him, Sarge?}”

Rauleh looks up, meeting Brera’s gaze flatly. “{And you think that’s a problem?}”

With a gentle grin, Brera tilts his head up and back, making a show of nonchalance. “{By no means – I think we all are. Why else would Egrezre-of-Frgan and I be smoothing out his telemetry data in the background?}”

Rauleh blinks, looking at [Bill]’s data again. “{…I was wondering about that; his telemetrics were unusually clear coming from the training programs. You realize we can’t clear him for solo launches unless he does it himself, right?}”

“{And you realize we’re overstaffed as it is. Come on, Rauleh! What’s the harm of letting us help him?! Besides, he gets to stay on-deck, and that’s gotta be more fun than the training closet you’ve hooked him up into.}”

“{Mmmm…..I don’t see why not, as long as we rema-}”

“{AWW YEAH! Egrezre we got us a-}”

[Bill] tensed at the sudden yelling. “[What – what did I do?! I’m, uh – it’s, [15 seconds] until-]”

With pursed lips Rauleh looked directly at Brera (who sheepishly turned away), turning her commbead back on. “{It’s nothing, [Bill]. You’re doing just fine – make sure to hit your thrusters on mark.}”

“[Ok! I’m gonna do it – you just watch me, ok?]”

“{Sure thing.}” Rauleh replied, and the deck fell silent once more – save for the rythmic thudding of a few tails against metal.

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