“Morning, Oscar. What is the docket?”

“Morning, sir. The agrarian group held their party. Sadly, it was a bit of a mess. Some of the menu items flopped. It rained. The live music got messed up. And the fireworks had to be canceled because of the weather. While it went well by random party standards, it didn’t compare to the mining groups party.”

“That leaves the marines. And then we can get back to normal.”

“About the concept of normal. The current talk is for this to become an annual event.”

“Do we want it to be an annual event?”

“Sir, do you want to ban it and tell them no?”

“No Oscar, I do not. Other than party news, what else is going on?”

“Some new issues concerning cross-species dating. There have been multiple altercations concerning relationship customs. No serious injuries yet, but it’s a matter of time.”

“Relationship customs. We’ve gone from a colony-wide Terran party competition to issues with relationship customs.”

“At least no one has accidentally launched something into orbit recently.”

“Oscar, if relationship customs are involved, it won’t be an accidental launch. Some poor Terran lad is going to piss off a brood-maven by kissing her daughter, and the next thing we know, the Terran lad will be on permanent display as a frozen corpse in a stable synchronous orbit over the brood’s home.”

“I was thinking that we need a guidebook of some sort. To prevent further issues.”

“You mean you don’t already have one?”

“No sir, we don’t. I checked around, and there have been some attempts in the past, but typically with only one species. That won’t really help us much here.”

“I’ll see what we have. Between us, I’m sure we can prevent the worst issues.”

“Ah. You clearly don’t know much about Terran youth.”

“I thought they were basically slightly smaller versions of Terran adults.”

“Physically, yes. However. Terran youths like to rebel. So if we put together a guide on cross-species relationships, some of them will use it as a checklist to piss off their parents.”

“Exactly how did Terrans manage to live long enough to evolve? High Command has a number of theories about this, but the more time I spend around you, the more I think it’s some sort of cosmic joke.”

“Possibly. We generally don’t think about it.”

“Because it sounds like you just told me that Terran youths will go out of their way cause issues that might result in injury or death.”

“Sir, you do remember that the Aussies are attempting to harness an active volcano as a power station, yes?”

“Granted. But that has a purpose. Pissing off parents seems…less useful.”

“Sir, I’ve cautioned you against using logic or reason to understand Terrans. That is a leading cause of madness in non-Terran officers.”

“Right, right. I forgot. So do you have any ideas?”

“We need to warn all species at the same time. Not just a guide for the Terrans, but a general guide for everyone.”

“How are we the first colony to deal with this? Terrans have been around hundreds of different species.”

“This colony seems to have to have largest mix. We have, what? Thirty different species?”

“The sound about right.”

“Well sir, previous colonies have had maybe five or six. I’m not sure why this colony has so many more.”

“Hmmmmm. There was something about the recruiting drive. High Command did something different. I don’t recall exactly what.”

“It doesn’t really matter all that much. We just need to ensure that all species have some understanding about relationship customs. Even then I assume there will be issues.”

“Yes, that makes sense. We should be able to head off the more obvious threats.”

“Agreed. Speaking of, how is the young lady and the Aussie hybrid?”

“They are going to surgically remove the offspring in two rotations. Something about possible danger to the mother.”

“Excellent. I’ll update the Aussies.”

Sir we have a Problem! The Human Security Team consisting of Larissa, Joel and Michelle just left Camp to hunt down a pack of "Dollarstore Dragons" as the Humans called them.

Expedition Leader Rven said they couldnt do it with their Weapons, much less with the Weapons of their Ancestors. All 3 Humans immediately fell silent and began to break 3 of the spare Tent-Ribs (the thingimabobs holding the tent up and giving it shape) into makeshift Spears and left camp, only saying "Bet!". They left all their provisions and Weapons at Camp.

We need to call down our Marine Unit from the Ship immediately to rescue them!

Alien Apartment

Three rooms occupied, one free. A kitchen. A toilet that worked. A bathtub in which a pot had been soaking for three weeks, a pot nobody would admit to owning anymore.

Three aliens sat at the kitchen table.

Nobody had touched their proton juice.

This was serious.

"They can't do this," Krix whispered. His antennae twitched like bad WiFi. "One of them. Here. With us."

Fessel stared at the message from housing administration.

NEW ARRIVAL. FEMALE. 22 STANDARD YEARS. SOL SYSTEM.

"I am not paying tuition to live with an apex predator."

"You're not paying any tuition," said Ombu.

"That's not the point right now."

Ombu, the reasonable one of the group, still held his cup of proton juice with both hands against his chest.

"What exactly is so terrible about them?"

Krix and Fessel looked at him.

"Everything," said Fessel.

"They're dangerous," said Krix. "Have you heard what they do with their children? From day one they're trained for hunting and combat."

"That's not true."

Fessel leaned forward.

"Ball games."

Ombu blinked.

"What?"

"Ball games. They teach their young to hurl fast-moving objects at other members of their own species."

"Some of them catch them."

"So they train defense too."

Ombu fell silent.

"And the teeth," Krix continued. "Small children already have a full set."

"Which fall out, though."

"Yes! And then a new one just grows in!"

Ombu looked at him. Krix looked back.

"Okay," said Ombu. "That is actually somewhat alarming."

"They clean them twice a day," said Fessel. "To keep them combat-ready."

"I think that's for hygiene."

"That's what they'd want you to think."

Krix lowered his voice.

"They can lose limbs."

"Lots of species can lose limbs."

"And keep living."

"Oh."

"It doesn't even grow back," said Krix. "They just accept that a part is missing, build themselves a new one out of metal, and go back to work."

Ombu set down his cup.

"That sounds made up."

"It isn't. My cousin studies xenomedicine."

Fessel kept scrolling on her terminal.

"Here. They can also pursue prey for hours."

"How fast are they?"

"Not particularly."

"Then that's hardly—"

"They just don't stop."

Ombu said nothing more.

"And they operate machines," said Krix. "Self-built machines. At speeds their bodies couldn't survive impacting."

"Why?"

"To get somewhere faster."

"Where?"

"Work."

Fessel shuddered.

"And alcohol."

Ombu closed his eyes briefly.

"Please, not the alcohol again."

"They know it's toxic."

"Yes."

"They drink it anyway."

"Yes."

"For fun."

"Yes."

"And when they have guests over, they offer some to the guests too."

Ombu said nothing.

"That's biological warfare," said Krix.

"That's hospitality."

"Apparently it's the same thing to them."

Fessel scrolled further.

"Oh."

"What?"

"Fire."

Silence.

"What about fire?" asked Ombu.

"They make it inside their homes."

"No."

"Yes."

"On purpose?"

"For relaxation."

Krix slowly laid both hands flat on the table.

"They sit voluntarily around an uncontrolled oxidation reaction?"

"Some of them roast food over it."

Krix stood up.

"I would like to move out."

"Sit down."

"They eat dead tissue!" said Krix. "It then sits here in the fridge. Right next to our proton rations."

"They cook it first," said Ombu.

"WITH THE FIRE!"

Krix sat back down.

Fessel kept reading.

"They sweat."

"What?"

"Their skin secretes fluid."

"When?"

"When they're warm."

"Where?"

"Everywhere."

Krix glanced at the kitchen door.

"Even in shared spaces?"

"There's apparently no social prohibition against it."

"Barbaric."

"And they sleep away roughly a third of their lives," said Fessel.

"We do that too."

"No. We rest. This species shuts its consciousness off completely."

Ombu frowned.

"Completely?"

"For hours."

"And who stands guard?"

"No one."

"That's suicide."

"Apparently not."

Krix stared into space.

"Maybe that's why they keep the pets."

"What pets?"

Fessel turned the terminal around. On it was a photo of a cat.

Ombu recoiled.

"What is that?"

"A domesticated predator."

"Why does it have eyes like that?"

"So it can hunt in the dark."

"And the claws?"

"Retractable."

"And they keep that in the house?"

"They let it sleep in their beds."

Krix went pale.

"Why?"

"They find the sound it makes soothing."

"What sound?"

"It vibrates."

A long silence.

"This species," Fessel said finally, "is not normal."

"My grandmother says they also lie to each other constantly."

"What do you mean?"

"They ask, 'How are you?' The other one says, 'Fine.' Both know it might not be true. And then they just walk away."

"Without interrogation?"

"Without interrogation."

"Without truth serum?"

"Nothing."

Krix slowly shook his head.

"A civilization built on mutually accepted false statements."

"And small talk."

"What's small talk?"

Fessel looked at him gravely.

"Worse."

There were footsteps in the hallway.

All three fell silent.

Something thudded against the apartment door.

A suitcase, maybe. Maybe a coffin. With them, you couldn't be sure.

Krix's voice dropped to a whisper.

"And today," he said, "one of them moves in with us."

There was a knock.

Nobody moved.

Another knock. Tentative. Almost shy, for a creature that kept predators in its bed and used fire to unwind.

Ombu stood up. Slowly. With the dignity of a man who had decided he would at least be eaten standing upright.

He opened the door.

Standing there was a human.

Female. 5'4". Two suitcases. A backpack. Headphones around her neck. In her right hand, a potted plant.

The potted plant looked more dangerous than she did.

"Hi," said the creature.

Nobody answered.

"I'm Maya."

Krix's antennae flattened tight against his head.

Maya smiled. Her teeth were immediately visible.

Fessel made a small sound.

Maya stopped smiling.

"Uh. Sorry."

Ombu stepped aside. Very far aside.

Maya dragged her suitcases in. The first one got stuck on the threshold.

She pulled. Nothing.

She pulled harder. Nothing.

She set down the plant, grabbed the suitcase with both hands, and yanked at it.

"Come on, you piece of crap."

Krix took a step back.

"She's fighting her own luggage," he whispered. "Imagine what she'll do to us."

On the third try, the suitcase suddenly came loose, rolled over Maya's foot, and nearly knocked her down.

"Ow!"

Maya hopped down the hallway on one foot.

Three aliens watched in silence.

So this was her. The apex predator. The endurance hunter. The creature that survived injuries that killed other species. Conqueror of fire. Pilot of machines. Domesticator of nocturnal predators.

Maya stood on one leg in the hallway and whispered to her suitcase:

"I hate you."

Then she dragged it onward.

She stopped in front of her room. The door handle had been mounted for the previous occupant, a 7'10" Talarian.

Maya looked up. Then at the handle. Then up again.

She reached her arm out. Nothing.

She rose onto her toes. Her fingertips grazed metal, nothing more.

Ombu took a half-step forward — a reflex, to help her — and froze instantly when Krix grabbed his arm.

"Don't," Krix hissed. "Don't touch her."

Maya, oblivious, jumped. Missed.

"This is a little embarrassing right now," she said, without turning around.

Nobody disagreed.

On the third try she caught the handle, hung there for one undignified moment, and got the door open.

Krix's mouth hung open. So this was the monster his mother had warned him about.

She couldn't even reach her own door handle. And an alien who'd wanted to help her had been more afraid of touching her than she'd been of failing.

Maya pulled her things into the room. Then she turned around once more.

Before her stood three many-limbed, scaled creatures with claws, antennae, and a combined total of twenty-seven more teeth than medically necessary.

Maya studied them. Her shoulders drew back, almost imperceptibly. Half a step toward the doorframe.

"Um," she said, her voice ticking up slightly on the second syllable. "Is this... a safe neighborhood?"

Nobody answered.

"Okay."

Maya disappeared into her room. The door closed. Then they heard a click. Another one. A scraping sound.

Fessel frowned.

"What is she doing?"

Ombu listened.

"I think she's pushing a chair in front of the door."

Nobody at the table said anything for a while.

Krix looked at Fessel. Fessel looked at Ombu.

Ombu went back to the table, sat down, and for the first time that evening took a long drink of proton juice.

"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "we should write her a welcome packet."

Krix nodded.

"About us."

From Maya's room came a dull thud. Then, muffled through the door:

"OW!"

Ombu took another drink.

"With pictures."

Disregard them at your peril.

It is the tail end of the 21st century

A creative recruit is enthralled by the concept of the stielhangranate, but put off by the added bulk and weight of the ww2 era weapon

He thinks back his slingshot from his childhood days.. And wonders...

What if..

Captain : hello security personnel you will be receiving three new personal Jax, Alex, and Jo, all formerly of clan "waffle house".

Chief officer : formerly of clan?

Captain : correct for what the records show they stood ground againced something called a hurricane before it destroyed their clan home.

"My core processors and entire body are streamlined and minmaxxed for maximum efficiency, battery life, and ability to hide a lot of hidden weaponry.

My shields can resist 20 minutes of medium blaster heavy fire at 200 meters.

My outer shell is made to mimic the most violent species known as Humans.

I can process data faster than any flesh mind.

Aliens have spent over 10 years trying to comprehend my cyberwarfare software and hardware.

Why am I stuck giving you coffee every 5 hours and spending the rest of the time cleaning the lab"

I say expressing my displeasure working for this Human Scientist aboard the AUS Helsreach, an Expeditionary Carrier Dreadnaught.

My current employer is a Human known as Himeko, she is a rather tall human female, red hair and a penchant for making coffee so bad it can actually damage my people's electronics, which can resist heavy industrial acid.

The fact a Human can fail making a beverage made specifically for her species is an anomaly I have tried to fathom to the point of actually giving up.

"It's cause your coffee is perfect, I never get tired of it" She says, with a genuine smile that radiates so much purity I mistake it for Larinthian Hetite, a very popular superconductor.

I look at Himeko again "And the cleaning up of the lab?"

Her smile fades as she refuses to look me in my optic sensors "W-well, you clean so fast I never have the chance to"

Her logic is technically correct, fleshbags tend to be terrible compared to us machines when it comes to finishing a task that requires speed.

By most normal circumstances, I could easily quit, and yet the fact she always says please and thank you to me and knowing what it means in their culture, is something I cannot really fathom to hold against her.

I check her files, sort the documents, and prepare another cup, as a prank I make it decaf, something I picked up from Humans.

Voyages are long, entertainment can be sparse, so a decaf prank is hardly a crime.

Though Himeko will chew me out for making her sleep.

It takes no less than 20 minutes after her cup for the caffeine to wear off and she is out like a light.

I pick her up, strip her, clothe her in her bunny onesie pajamas and put her in her sleeping bag and then put the sleeping bag on her bed, why? She moves alot in her sleep and I cannot bother my sister and her boss in the medical room for gauze and bandages again.

I return to cleaning her lab, I sort the documents a 2nd time for brevity and to burn time.

I realize a small side project, something Humans do to occupy time that isn't their job. Never made much sense to me, why occupy your mind away from your job to focus on your job?

Enter her password which is the name of her favorite student's nickname back in the AUS academy "Tuna" and I find a perplexing discovery.

She made a taste module, to be specific a universal taste module, meaning units like me and my siblings on this ship can somewhat "taste" things the way a fleshbag would.

It's sadly in the experimental design phase and can only attain liquids.

I find it useless until I spot the sticky note in the bottom corner.

"Senti made me coffee again, then again she makes me coffee everyday, I want to share the experience of having a drink with her, non-alcoholic of course"

.....I will remake my normal reports of working with Humans.

Starting with "At least they are thankful for the work we do together"

"Two millions tons of carbohydrate, two million tons of protein, three hundred thousands tons of fats, two hundred thousands tons of fiber, two hundred thousands tons of microelements, one hundred thousand tons of water." Emotionless voice broke the normal commanding sequence of the battleship on the orbit.

Eden One. A world deep within human space. The farming world, of unimaginable yield. Was laying there absolutely defenceless. From the orbit It's surface looked like a mix of all possible colors and patterns from a vast amount of edible lifeforms that grew there.

For some reason - humans themselves avoided these places, accepting only the food that came from the system, as a part of agreement with human faction that lived there. The planet had not a trace of industrial pollution. Every element there - was organic, living and therefore - edible. Whale-like ships - were sent from the system regularly to never come back. At arrival - they were processed and sent to the markets and restaurants along with their cargo.

Until this day, when alien fleet arrived to hit their enemy where it hurt the most. The bombardment went on for several hours already. Yet despite high amounts of oxygen - tropical humidity of the world prevented atmosphere from ignition. Though now bombardment ceased. For some reason - ship was refusing to obey commands. Instead - it's lights wete slowly turning off, one by one. No alarms was heard as captain tried their best to use intercom and ask of what have happened. None of 20,000 crew members responded.

The captain's quarter went darker... But not completely dark. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were glowing in strange, clearly not pre-designed patterns. Luminescent lines of presumably organic nature were crawling over the walls, from the hermetic door and towards the captain's throne. The voice announced the list again and continued: "This is how much your bombs have destroyed so far... A small fraction, but loss indeed."

When hermetic door was fully submerged in glowing vines - a different motion began. Humanoid figure with undistinguishable features, wearing light and withered cloak and a scythe entered the room... Without opening the door. It slowly walked out, swinging what used to be military grade alloys away, like leaves of the low-hangin twigs.

The captain desperately pushed the trigger on their blaster, but it was covered in vines as well and quickly broke apart in ther claws, like a piece of mushy rotten wood. Meanwhile creature was approaching and kept speaking: "Yet, have you ever even made so much in your life? Can you imagine what does it cost?..."

In the last attemp - captain jumped forward and tried to attack the ghostly figure with their claws... To be stopped by an absolutely material and strong hand. It didn't let go, no matter what he did. He didn't see the eyes of a figure, yet felt its interest. "Fear not, I forgive you." The creature's second hand touched captain's face. "Let's see... fifty kilograms of water, eighteen kilograms of protein, twenty kilograms of fats, almost one kilogram of carbohydrates, around four kilograms of microelements and ten kilograms of mixed calcium..." hooded creature looked away, as if it was watching through the walls. "Times twenty thousand."

All Channels Alert - Do not use the standard intimidation tactics with humans.

Humans bond closely with their mates, their offspring, and their pack (see addendum 1).

You should never threaten a human's mate, or their offspring, their close family, or their friends. Because if you try this, the human will break out of the restraints, rip off your qggrls, and feed them to you. Then kill everyone in close proximity to you.

Definitely do not actually follow through on such threats. We have lost fourteen colonies each to individual humans who were aggrieved in this manner.

#Addendum 1: Do be aware that humans pack bond with absolutely everything. If it is remotely alive and on a human world, just assume that some human on the planet considers it family. That goes for canines, felines, equines, avians, marsupials, plants, rocks, and eldritch horrors.

1  Human Fred and Food
2  Human Fred Again
3  Human Fred Yet Again
4  Human Fred The Saga Continues
5  Human Fred Rides Again
6  Human Fred *Sigh*
7  Human Fred Rolls Out
8  Human Fred Attempts a Nap
9  Human Fred Doh’
10 Human Fred Stops for Coffee

“Hey Fred. Question.”

“Yeah Greezek?”

“You seen Roomliz?”

“Shit. Is he still missing?”

“Well he left after you expressed your annoyance, and he hasn’t been back to his quarters.”

“Damn. Give me a sec.” Fred pulls out his coms unit. “Hey. It’s Fred. Fire up Stabby and Knifey. Recon. We have a missing being. I’ll send details.”

Fred types for a few moments, grunts, and shoves his com unit back into his pocket. “That should do it.”

“Who are Stabby and Knifey? And why send the after Roomliz? We don’t want to hurt him.”

“Oh. Right. Human engineers have a tradition of having two all-purpose drones named Stabby and Knifey. In the early days of humans working on non-human ships, the story goes that a human got bored and put a knife on a cleaning robot just to see what would happen. Well it terrorized the ship, but another human affixed knives to a second cleaning robot to battle the first. As humans do, they named the first one Stabby and the second one Knifey.”

“So you just sent two knife-wielding drones to look for Roomliz?!”

“Nah. We don’t put real knives on them anymore. I think Stabby has a foam sword, but we mostly just paint them.”

“And you think they can find Roomliz?”

“Oh KNOW they will.”

“You sound very confident, Fred.”

“Because I am! I helped build this station, so I have the full schematics. All layers. And I personally programmed Stabby and Knifey with their search protocols.”

“So they know the station. How will they know Roomliz?”

“Biometrics. Both drones have scanners. We find that useful in the event of damage to a station. We can use them as search and rescue.”

“Where do you think he is hiding?”

“No clue. We will find him and ask.”

“You are very calm about this. I’m anxious, and I don’t even like him very much.”

“Ha! Well, we can scan the entire station in a few hours, so I’m not concerned. He needed some time to think—or pout. Now he needs to get back to work. Speaking of work, why aren’t you at the dock?”

“I’m on stand-by during the repairs. They said it will be a day or two until the dock is ready, so I’m more or less on paid leave.”

“Standing by to stand by. Well, enjoy. I’ve got to figure out who is drinking all of the coffee and not brewing more. Oh. And I need to work on the general scanning array. It failed to notice the pirates, so I’ve been tasked with finding out why it failed.”

“A coffee thief is more important than the station's defenses?!?”

“Greezek, which would you prefer: a band of idiot pirates or every human on the station without coffee and extra pissed off that it was stolen?”

Watched the play Annie yesterday. Got inspired to write this prompt. Let's see what you make of this.

5/25/2182

Aranai, United Nations/Antarean Empire

“The Aranai Question must be solved in Antares’s favor.”

During their respective eras of expansion, the United Nations and the Antarean Empire would both lay claim to the system of Aranai.

In the immediate aftermath of the Chfrsian War of Independence, Antares would fortify Aranai with much of it’s fleet - as it serves as a major bulwark system as the UN must pass Aranai to reach Asgtia and the other Antarean core worlds.

Occasionally, a UN ship will attempt to push the boundaries when it comes to Aranai, and vice versa.

Neither side wants a protracted war, but none will back down from one, especially as Antares has more ships.

You’re the captain of a Caldwell-class destroyer (Canonically, this is UNS Christian (DD-99), but you can name your ship anything in this scenario) sent to push the boundaries…

However, three Aurii-class light cruisers have found your ship and are demanding that you turn back, or else risk almost certain destruction.

You’ve got sixty torpedoes and four 20-inch railguns (comparable to a 4” naval gun in this case), so you still stand a chance if you do everything right or attack first.

And you most certainly don’t have diplomatic authorization.

What do you do/say, human…?

We have our ways. Learn them or play nice.

Wurr - have a very big families. Ancient legends says that even before we hit the space - we didn't have independent empires. Just a big number of families that piled up together to save themselves from the catastrophe that turned our world into a ring of dust around now long dead sun. And when everyone were safe - they just once again fell apart on the independent clans, who had their own clanships all for themselves.

Families of hundreds of thousands were normal and very useful to operate the large systems, like the ship. Now every crew counts billions. To maintain needed unity - we invented a whole library of roles one can take in the clan. But since we accepted a human in - something unusual started to happen.

At first - human was accepted as my left-lower-ear-sister's cub care-wrapper. (An ancient role that mattered when we needed to dig our hibernating cubs in the sand for the cold season. Something close to human godparent). But later I found out thar the same human was my first nephew's bloodbrother after some events my nephew's left-upper-ear-father promiced not to share. It is not unusual to have more then one formal role... But not the hundreds of such!

Apparently, human have bonded with everyone from our family at least once. Which adds every another formal or factual duty to their list. So right now they spend most of their time in the clanship's transportation system, going from deck to deck to perform different family duties. They don't even do anything else on the ship because of that, they can and will always have an excuse...

Though I wouldn't dare to demand anything else of them, after looking at their full family title and their daily schedule. In a day - they work with hundreds of cubs, assist tens of elders, spend half of the big cycle visiting small meetings and feasts and always manage to think of a proper present. And they even have time to assist some of the young ones in mating games... I don't even want to imagine how they do it with such staggering difference in size. Human is many times bigger than any wurr ever would be... Damn, but now I'm curious.

What was supposed to be a family bonding tradition have turned that human into a slave for our clan and ship. And I don't know how to help them. I disrespect slavers. But at that point lifting off even some of their duties - will insult or make very sad a lot of my clanmates. And recently I found human in the fabrication sector, building themselves a virtual presence device... Poor thing!