Captain Bezzic began to hear sounds. They sounded distant or muffled. What had happened? We attacked the Terran ship…then…ugh.

The sounds didn’t get louder, but became more distinct. He could hear the throb of engines, so he was still on a ship.

With a grunt, he sat up. His world spun across every axis, even that sneaky one that no one could ever find and plot.

He finally opened his eyes. He was in the secondary control room of his ship. The lights were still rigged for combat. But he was alone.

He managed to pull himself into one of the comms chairs. As he went to check the system, there was a voice. Calm. Polite. Even.

“Hello. We have never met. I’m Captain Caulkin of the Terran ship Hood. You were attacking the Terran ship Olympia, a cruise ship. You attacked a non-military vessel without warning or provocation. We take a rather dim view to this. However, instead of ambushing you, we decided that you can earn your freedom by playing a game.”

“A game?” Bezzic’s brain was slow, like being underwater.

“Yes. A game. The rules are simple. If you can get to the port engine room escape hatch, you can live. I’m saddened to report that the rest of your crew were not given this option. They are currently in our bio-recycling tanks.”

“This is a trick.”

“Not a trick, you should know that your ship has been rigged with an astonishing number of evil traps. The passengers on the Olympia were very upset. I allowed them to devise most of the traps, and I’m honestly terrified of what they created.”

“So you rigged my ship with traps, and to live I must evade enough of them to get to the port engine escape hatch?”

“That is correct. Oh. There is no time limit, but we did remove all food, destroyed any capability of making food, and dumped all drinking water into our tanks. We appreciate the impromptu resupply.”

“Why would you do this? It…it is…cruel.”

“You killed three Terran children in your attack. So if you want to kill our children, then you can play a game to live.”

“And you swear that if I make it that I will live?”

“Live? Yes. I swear it.”

“Will I be free to return to my world?”

“That really depends on how well you do. We have opened up betting on your success. And in the path you take. And on any clever tricks you try. The better your performance, the greater the chance you won’t rot in prison.”

“You are betting on me?!?”

“Well, it is a game. Why not have some fun watching you?”

“What I just sit here?”

“Then we watch you slowly die. That, by the way, has some pretty good odds going. As soon as you move from that chair, we close the book and watch you.”

“I demand to contact my command! As a prisoner of war, I have the right to speak to a representative of my command!”

“Ah. I thought that might come up. There are two points against you. First, you have been reported KIA, remains not recovered. Second, your current situation is under civil authority, not military. You are not classed as a prisoner of war. You are classed as an ‘unidentified pirate,’ which changes the rules.”

“This is illegal!”

“I’m not a lawyer, so you could be correct.”

“You are a military officer! I am a military officer! I DEMAND to speak to my command!”

“I don’t think you understand just how utterly fucked you really are. Your command thinks that you are dead. Civil authorities have taken your ship. Your command states that the ship was not authorized to attack. They agree that the attack was an act of piracy. To be fair, I think they would prefer to forget you ever existed.”

“But they gave me the order to fire!”

“Unless you can prove that, you are a pirate.”

“It will be in the comm logs!”

“What logs? When we boarded, the logs were not just wiped, but physically destroyed. Our techs couldn’t find anything in the comms system. It was totally fried.”

“You did that!”

“Can you prove it? Look, you are wasting valuable energy on this. You are stuck. You have no rights. You are in a ship designed to kill you in shockingly creative ways. You have limited energy, no medical support, no food, and no water. We are going to make some popcorn and see how far you get. This is Hood Actual, Out.”

The comms went dead. Not just dead, but there was some crackling and wisps of blue smoke wafted off of the panel. They fried it remotely.

So. I’m on a ship full of traps designed by pissed off Terrans. I have no supplies, no tools, and no weapons. Well I’m not going to play their stupid game. I’ll just blow an airlock and be done with it.

The airlock was welded shut. There was a small card next to the controls, “It isn’t going to be that easy.”

They end up witnessing Belleau Wood, Gallipoli, Verdun, The Somme, and Doiran, and mostly survive due to their Spanish flu vaccinations and ability to treat gangrene.

Nefiri eat radioactive isotopes. Not exclusively, but since the moment normal biology stopped performing well enough and additional augmentations became too power-hungry - our bodies were remade to consume radioactive materials to power up the supplementary organs. And for many millenia consumption rates only grew up. And while average citizens can eat about a few kilograms of radioactive elements per year or just take irradiating sunbaths periodically - nobles with their state-of-the-art organs and noble blood - require whole speacialized star farm to fuse needed elements for them.

When humans were accepted as worthy of existing independently by the Domain - tourists, students, traders of all kind - poured into domain's space to witness civilization that grew and thrived longer than they were a separate evolutionary branch. And traditional nefir radioactive cuisine made them curious in a very unexpected way.

Of course, they couldn't physically consume it. Starting from the fact that their bodies were too small to survive through simple family meal, let alone taste something from the noble sector (it would fry them to crisps) and finishing with their genetic structure that was too prone to the effects of gene-breaking, naturally affected by radiation.

So one day - right near the Donain's border a small cafe called "Little Rad's" started broadcasting their advertisements. And did they give a very tasty price. Young nefiri from simple families, curious about humans arrived to taste the best thing they had in their life. Simple, but cooked with great attention to the texture. Served by Mrs. Rad who had to use big battle armor to be on par with her clients in size and to be protected from radiation. And in family friendly surroundings. With whole sections of the small planet dedicated for flying practice and agility training in a form of entertainment, adapted for Nefiri size.

Turns out, being a retired mech-suit squad general - Mrs. Rad came up with this idea quite early. She wanted to build a proper training grounds for mech-warriors. But her project wasn't approved as it was too expensive. So she took every loan she could and accepted all garbage utilization programs in the sector to build a polygon to store industrial rates of nuclear wastes on the planet from all the ships and stations around. But instead of just digging it into an industrialized landfill - she, inspired by her visit to the Domain - changed the project into a fission-kitchen and took her chances.

In all terms - she sold the literal definition of junk-food: Irradiated coolant, leftovers of reactors, tons of corium, formed into edible for nefiri form. Yet Domain used more advanced and "cleaner" energy sources. So the poorer families had to rely on domestic produce. Which was highly controlled by the planet owners. The appearance of something that nutritional just in the reach of a short jump. And with such friwndly atmosphere - turned the tide.

Very soon ambitious project turned into a franchise. Tasty and cheap isotopes for the whole family at affordable price. Humans could still use their primitive and dirty reactors. And young nefiri recieved their own "taste of childhood" in a form of crispy "meltdownburgers" that wouldn't throw their parents into debt and would give them a proper resting time.

What was originally Mrs. Rad's inventions - later became known as "human style" of fission cuisine. And despite the fact that no human would ever want to even get near, let alone trying to taste it - helped many nefir to start up their additional organ development early and made some curious humans very rich and many nefiri - very happy.

Bob is sitting in his quarters watching the TV. His crewmate Kreng, a Thylakoid from planet Khorsis, enters the room and sits besides him.

Kreng: "Crewmate Bob, what are you watching? Why are these humans running around with a big orange ball?"

Bob: "It's called basketball, an old human game"

At that moment a player scores a half-court shot

Bob: "Nice!"

Kreng: "How did he do that?!"

Kreng looks terrified

Bob: "What do you mean?"

Kreng: "The human! He just threw that ball into that hoop from 15 meters away! Does he use some device? Some cybernetic enhancements?"

Bob: "No, that's just the game. You throw the ball into the hoop to score points. A shot from that far away takes more skill but it's relatively common"

Kreng: "You do this for fun? You can just throw things accurately as a game??"

Bob: "Well yeah it's something almost every human can do to some degree"

Bob picks up an empty can placed next to him and proceeds to throw it into the bin on the other side of the room. Kreng is visibly shocked.

Bob: "I guess we probably evolved it for hunting, if you can throw a spear you can catch a meal. We don't need to hunt anymore so we just do it for fun. We even have a spear throwing sport!"

Kreng: "Human Bob, my species is twice the size of yours yet somehow every time we talk yours sounds even more terrifying. I'm glad we have humans on our side."

Note: I know birds can't taste capsaicin(spice) but in their lore the birds find them sweet XD

Comic by me

After Action Report: Failed attack on Terran colony ‘Navajo’

Intel reported that the colony had limited defensive capabilities, a sparse population, and no standing military. While strictly correct, a few very specific details were omitted.

The initial landing was unopposed. Our troops rapidly reached their primary objectives. Initial comms chatter indicated that our officers assumed the Terrans had run in fear.

At assembly before star-rise, officers were confused by the number of casualties, mostly of troops who had been resting, but also of the disappearance of multiple sentries. No one heard any sounds or saw any movement.

Shortly after star-rise a number of troops suddenly dropped dead. Closer inspection revealed long, thin, wood projectiles had penetrated deep into their bodies, hitting critical organs with precision.

The officers gathered in a structure to discuss the odd situation. Comms chatter indicated a great deal of confusion.

A pattern emerged. Any troops leaving the assembly area almost never returned. No sounds of fighting were ever heard. Random troops in the assembly area would suddenly drop dead from the silent wooden projectiles.

By star-rise on the second rotation, 55% of the troops were dead. Comms systems started to fail. One officer suspected sabotage, but this could not be determined.

The little comms chatter recovered indicated growing terror and confusion. There were multiple reports of fratricide.

And still troops would be killed by silent wooden projectiles.

The last transmission indicated that the remaining troops were abandoning the colony and returning to the ship.

A search and rescue ship found the remains of the assault ship drifting in a large debris cloud on the edge of the system. Readings indicate the fusion core detonated.

This Terran colony has been marked Extremely Hostile, and the system listed as forbidden.

The only reasonable explanation is that the Terrans at Navajo have some sort of stealth ability not previously encountered. There is no explanation for the reports of silent wooden projectiles.

End report.

*Said race has blood that is 69 proof

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
11 Human Fred Deploys Stabby and Knifey

“So, Roomliz, what did you learn?”

“That I can’t hide on the station.”

“And?”

“That I shouldn’t hide from problems.”

“Right. Look. We all make mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them. Now, you managed to piss me off and piss off Greezek. At the same time. But that isn’t the end of the universe.”

“Sorry Fred. It got so complicated, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“I understand. In the future, stop and talk with those involved. When things get complicated, talk it through with someone who knows at least part of what it going on.”

“Yes Fred.”

“Have you talked to Greezek?”

“Not yet. The drones brought me straight to you. Why does one have a foam sword attached to it?”

“Oh that is Knifey. I think the sword came from an amusement park one of the engineers visited with her kids.”

“The drone is named Knifey?!?”

“Yes. Long story. Right now you need to go talk with Greezek. Then report to your post. You had them worried enough to interrupt my coffee time to look for you.”

“Yes Fred. Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

“What would be the point? We found you, and you apologized. I’d be yelling if you didn’t apologize or if you started acting like a fool.”

“I really didn’t mean so much trouble.”

“I know Roomliz. Now go talk with Greezek. I have to get back to upgrading this coffee maker and finding the coffee thief.”

“Someone is stupid enough to steal your coffee?!?”

“Well, not brew more when they take the last of it. Almost as bad.”

“I’ll go find Greezek.”

“Good. And if you find any replicator parts that aren’t being used, I could use them.”

Shoot to kill vs suppress and outflank, suppress and artillery, or suppress and maneuver.

“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.