Humans are Weird – Upcycling


“I am simply uneasy about the situation,” Quartermaster Husk said, his tail twitching in accompaniment, “I just need to grind the situation over with you before I approve the request.”
Commander Thresh gave an encouraging thrum from his secondary vocal chords when the quartermaster paused. Thresh knew very well exactly how soft his own scales were compared to the old Quartermaster. Husk’s scales had grown opaque long before Thresh was hatched. Moreover the old Gathering had dedicated himself to his calling of providing for the adventurous and the youthful spirited. Added to all of that Quartermaster Husk had been on one of the few ships that had encountered humans in the first days of their contact with the Galaxy at large and had been in near constant contact with them since. It would have been stone-brained for any Commander to just dismiss the Quartermaster’s concerns, let alone a Commander as new as Thresh was.
Still, it was clear that the older Gathering was by natural disposition, a disposition that had been strongly tempered by the experience of those first chaotic days of contact with the humans, far more than overly cautious. Therefore Commander Thresh listened intently to the long list of minor safety infractions that the current human population of the base had incurred over their stay.

"They are simply going to, what is the word they use, upcycle some expired equipment?" Commander Thresh glanced at the proposal. "It is considered safety equipment at that. There is nothing toxic or dangerous and every human is rated to safely dispose of pressurized containers. Added to this they proposed a slow, gradual release of pressure. They are also requesting the activation of every cleaning drone in preparation. It seems that every safety and hygienic measure is being proactively taken."

“Then there is their scent when they talk about it,” Quartermaster Husk said after a particularly slow and contemplative blink.
His tongue flicked out as if trying to recapture the memory of the smell.
“The smell is so very similar to the smell they give off when anticipating danger,” he said slowly, “not exactly the same, scent me here, but very, very close. I simply do not think that it would be safe to let this idea sprout.”
Commander Thresh hummed thoughtfully as he deliberately mulled over the arguments. It clearly wasn’t enough to forbid a moral boosting safety training exercise that everyone was so obviously willing to participate in. Clearly Quartermaster Husk understood this as well, the dejected slump of his shoulders showed that clearly enough. It also showed that he clung to his theory that the training session was going to go horribly wrong in some unscentable way.
The Commander drew in a deep breath and bobbed his head firmly.
“Authorize the session on my word and note your objections as clearly as you are able,” he said.
Quartermaster Husk flicked his tongue out in obedience. Having the decision made clearly relaxed him but he still looked uneasy.
“We will at the very least get good data on our newest allies out of it,” Commander Thresh said with a comforting wave of his tail. “Now I have to go inspect the outlying bases for predator safety. Hopefully the exercise will still be going on when I return and you can detail your concerns then with the aid of active observation.”
Quartermaster Husk gave a noncommittal grumble and Commander Thresh scrambled briskly away to his transport. The predator inspection left him as uneasy as ever. Not at the sight of any predator, but at the clearly murderous contraptions the humans insisted were basic predator defense. Granted they had not lost a single ranger to predation since they had implemented the human’s tactics but the buzzing of the electric fence alone was enough to set his scales tingling with empathetic stress for any poor creature that touched it. He arrived back at the base far later than he had expected and was pleasantly surprised to find that the indicators lights showed the exercise was indeed still in progress.
“Curious,” he muttered as he approached the main airlock.
The ground outside the airlock was dusted with a fine white powder and signs of freeze burns tinged the ground-cover that had been healthy when he left. His tongue scented that the dust was fire retardant. He grimaced in annoyance. How had the humans gotten waste product so far outside of the disposal area. He supposed the old quartermaster would be more than glad to fill him in. He ambled through the airlock and immediately noted the cacophonous noise from the far side. The airlock floor was covered in chemical fire retardant interrupted with broad swaths that looked like the cleaning drones had tried to remove it and had only marginally succeeded and the air was stale with extra carbon dioxide.
“Life support!” the commander snapped out. “Give me a carbon dioxide reading!”
The system exhausted a chemical profile for a fully safe and clear but it was overlapped with and indicator that the systems were having to overclock to maintain that state. The commander rushed through the final lock and froze as he looked out on chaos. Before he could begin to process what he was seeing a warm pair of hands scooped him up from under his forelimbs and deposited him under one of the benches the humans sat on to make putting their foot gear on easier.
“Safer under here Sir!” Assistant Quartermaster Smythe said with a sigh before sitting back down on the bench above them.
Commander Thresh was vaguely aware that Quartermaster Husk was grumbling something beside him. It was no doubt some variation of having told him so but the chaos that had taken his base was consuming the commander’s attention.
All obstructions had been moved out of the main hallway and the cargo doors had been thrown open. Someone had painted guide tracks seemingly randomly across the floor and what seemed like every disc shaped cleaning drone had been set loose in a sea of chemical fire retardant. Which might have made some level of sense he supposed. Except someone had gone to great lengths to set controlled fires alight on top of each and every drone. Dashing through this chaos, humans -more humans than he thought his base contained-perched in pairs and singly on the office chairs meant for their use and mobile benches meant for the use of the lower bodied Gathering. The humans appeared to be using the expired fire extinguishers as propulsion, explaining the sea of retardant that covered the floor. When a human managed to get near a flaming cleaning drone they would aim the extinguisher at the flame and hold it there until the propulsion of the escaping gas or chemicals pushed them away. The second human used an extinguisher in the opposite direction to counter but without apparent synchronization it seemed difficult to manage.
“Are they practicing putting fires out in zero gravity conditions?” The commander finally managed to gasp out, hoping that he sounded like a reasonable adult rather than the sun-stunned hatchling he felt like.
“I have no idea,” Quartermaster Husk grunted out as he rubbed his nose against a thigh to wipe off some retardant.
“Well,” Commander Thresh said with a tone of forced cheerfulness. “All the fires are nearly out so this should be over soon.”
“Takes them maybe two minutes to put the fires out,” Quartermaster Husk snapped.
“Then how are they still-” Commander Thresh began.
His question was interrupted as an extinguished cleaning drone rolled past them busily sucking up retardant. One of the single humans on an office chair rolled past, and with a whoop of glee sent a gout of flame pouring into the dish taped to the drone’s top. The flame seemed to come from an improvised device. The fireproof drone continued on its way dutifully with a fresh pillar of fire leaping from its dish. Delighted hoots from the paired humans followed as they tried to aim for the newly lit drone.
“What could go wrong?” Quartermaster Husk demanded in a grim tone.
“I begin to understand why my human colleagues fear that question,” Commander Thresh murmured.  

THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 

Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

 Humans are Weird – Heads Up


No matter how well a space station was engendered, no matter how far technology advanced – at least so far as it had advanced so far – an inhabited space station was never quiet. The atmosphere had to be purified, plants rustled and filters hummed with air movement. The air had to be circulated. There was no such thing as a perfectly efficient fan. The very materials of the hull and superstructure would flex and bend minutely as the differences in temperature caused even the most stable of molecular bonds to expand and contract. Even when the frames were vented and ghosted along without air any species that had a concept of sound could hear the movement whenever their bodies, or rather space suits, made contact with the material of the station.
Most psychologists noted that this was probably for the best. They had as yet found any species that thrived in a truly silent environment. Even so called deaf species were used to the stimulation of some sort, carried on the gas or water they breathed. Even the space whales that the humans loved to observed could feel the pinging of the thinly spread atoms when they wandered out of the nebula and into the void. However if they lingered their too long they developed various neuroses that were nearly indicative of sapience they were so close to some of the common failings of more advanced brains. The various schools of psychology would occasionally note this, and for a few cycles the various Universities would be atwitter with fears of humans going mad from lack of audio stimulation and flights of Winged dispersing into the sound void. They would suggest solutions and experiments and it would usually all peter out as the various engineering departments would each in turn gently but firmly reminded the psychology departments that they were as far from developing a perfectly silent space station as their psych friends were from actually understanding Human Nature.
All of this was idly passing through the mind of Quilx’tch as he pattered along with his companion. The particular space station that had brought all of this to the base of his mental pounce as it were was a shiny new thing that the humans had built to their own specifications and tolerances and funded entirely from their own planet’s economy. The situation was hardly unexpected, with a mass three times that of the second largest species in the alliance the humans who chose to interact with the other species had needed to make accommodations that were often painful if not outright medically inadvisable.
Now Quilx’tch wondered if the Trisk bases the humans had visited felt as strange and imposing to them as this one did to him. He somehow doubted it. The mere sense of massive spaces all around him was intimidating in a way that no confinement could be. He caught the sound of his own appendages striking the spider walk echoing back at him from the distant walls and gave a shiver. His companion shivered in agreement and twitched his legs in the direction of the common room.
“Shall we find some companionship fit to fill this void?” his companion suggested in forcibly cheerful clicks.
Quilx’tch tapped his paws in agreement and they accelerated a bit in the direction of the outer hull. It was an odd design but the human insisted that all living quarters be on the exterior section of their great round structures. Their engineers said it was something about redundancy and being able to keep their calciferous inner skeletons functional with rotational momentum if the artificial gravitational generators ever went out. Given how simple and nearly indestructible even human antigrav systems were that was an odd reason to forego the protection of being in the center of a craft offered but the humans insisted.
Quilx’tch angled himself upward to glance at the indicator light and clicked in dissatisfaction to note that it was a deep amber. The humans in the common room were doing something dangerous enough to prevent the immediate entry of the smaller Trisk. That something was also producing a repeated pounding sound that was vibrating the deck plating beneath his paws. It was intimidating to be sure, but it was also the very welcome sound of live beings doing something. He and his companion passed into the safety lock and peered through the plasisteel barrier at what the humans were doing.
“Basket Ball!” his companion noted gleefully, raising his volume to be heard over the resounding noise made each time the ball stuck the floor or the wall. “I have never had a chance to see it preformed before.”
Quilx’tch clicked in agreement and crouched back on his rear motile appendages to watch the exchange. It was a very simple game in principle, he could think of pawfulls of example of similar games he had played in his youth, all of them several times more complex. The goal seemed to be to get a ball about the size of the humans’ head into a vector meet that was only two body lengths above the ground and in perfect parallel with it. A hatching game at best, if it were not for the fact that the game seemed to require another human or set of humans to actively provide challenging interference. Two humans were currently dodging about the flat surface which currently displayed comically oversized guide lines.
“Do you really think those vector and limiter lines are really necessary?” his companion asked. “Are they that vector blind?”
“Remember,” Quilx’tch said, “They only have two eyes, their vision is binocular and severely limited, and their hairs are almost useless for practical directionality.”
“And of course the mass of the ball itself is a factor,” his companion continued. “Still in proportion…”
His companion’s voiced stilled as the duo of humans began a slightly more intricate set of maneuvers that saw possession of the massive ball change several times without the humans once even brushing each other.
“Yes,” Quilx’tch continued the dropped thought, “in proportion to their mass and size it is a very simplistic game. Note however that they do not touch sensory hairs so that increases the challenge for them.”
His companion clicked in understanding as one of the humans suddenly broke away and bolted for the target vector meet. He tossed the ball and it failed, rebounding from the edge of the vector meet. The second human was right behind him and snatched the ball before tossing it up towards the vector meet.
“The human under the vector meet needs to move!” Quilx’tch suddenly clicked in horror.
“What is he doing! Human face structure is not sturdy enough to take such a blow!” His companion called out as they both darted for the emergency overide on the door.
They could only watch in horror however as the massive ball arched up and dipped perfectly down through the vector meet just as the human below lifted up his binocular eyes to watch its trajectory. The human’s slow reflexes meant that the ball slammed into his protruding nasal sensor just as it was fully extended.
The blow first turned the human’s head to the side and then twisted the entire bipedal form to the floor. Quilx’tch burst through the door clicking in distress with his companion close on his paws. However they stopped short as the sound the humans were making struck them. Both of the humans were laughing heartily as the uninjured human helped the injured one to his feet.
“Do you require medical assistance?” Quix’tch asked.
However it appeared that neither of the humans had noted their approach. To Quilx’tch’s dawning horror the injured human was beginning to leak bright read blood out of his nasal cavity, but instead of calling for the base medic he only reached up to compress the exterior of the cavity in a membrane crushing grip.
“Yo!” the uninjured human called. “Why are the indicator lights red?”
The injured human gave one of those deep grunts that could only come from mammalian lungs and swept his vision around the room before alighting on the two Trisk.
“Lil’buzzz!” the injured human slurs out as his smile caused a fresh line of red blood to streak down his lips. “Wazzuuu?”
“He said what’s up little buds!” the uninjured human said cheerfully as he strode over and held out his hands for them to jump up. “This is a dangerous game for you so I gotta get you back to the observation lock!”
“This is a dangerous game for you!” Quilx’tch insisted, so overwhelmed by the sight of the compressed membrane and the flowing internal fluids that he forgot his manners. “We need to get the injured human to the medical ward!”
“For a stupidity induced nosebleed?” the uninjured human scoffed. “We have gravity here. It’ll stop in a bit and we can limit the spread of biohazard fluids by staying here.”
The injured human nodded in agreement, causing the blood to smear further over his hands.
Quilx’tch stared at them both in horror and it apparently showed in his stance and the humans preformed that odd form of communication that only binocular species could.
“You’re puffed out like a kitten in a room full of rocking chairs lil’ guy,” the uninjured human finally observed.
“Ake oo haap I oe ediiii?” The injured human tried to speak.
“Would it calm you down if I took my friend here to the medical ward?” the uninjured human translated.
“Yes, yes it would,” Quilx’tch said firmly.
The uninjured human lifted them up to the spider walk and the injured human waved at them as the pair left the room. He used the hand he had been compressing his external sinus with however and this resulted in a fresh flow of blood from his nose that spattered on the floor triggering the biohazard alarms and gave them a good view of the internal fluids spread all over his hand.
Quilx’tch shuddered as the AI began to insist that they leave the contaminated common room until the automated cleaning systems had sanitized it.


THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 

Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

​I Told You Carl Weathers is a Great Actor! Greef Carga Isn’t But That Wasn’t the Question Now Was It

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 Humans are Weird – Just Shy, Just a Little Shy


“Have you heard the news Eighth Sister,” Fourth Cousin demanded as she came skittering around the abrupt ninety degree corner of the base.
Eighth Sister flared her frill in warning a moment too late as Fourth Cousin smacked her joint against the wooden beams with a sickening cracking sound. Fourth Cousin’s long, luxurious frill clamped down around her neck and shoulders, the pretty turquoise colors of joyful excitement on her membrane fading to dull gray as the pain reached her primary processing nodes. Eighth Sister did bother scolding her hivemate for her carelessness, the cousin was barely old enough to have molted her legs more than once. It wasn’t the place of an Eighth Sister to question the wisdom of three mothers and two Grandmothers but for the life of her she couldn’t see why they had sent this pretty little bud out for her required civil service at all, let alone so early in her life. With dozens of elder sisters and cousins, and even more than one brother, out doing their duty for the community at large a cousin who might have been a second sister in her own right was really better suited to playing with the petals in her father’s garden than braving the dangers of the galaxy at large.
“It does hurt,” Fourth Cousin managed to click out in Mother as Eighth Sister examined the damaged joint.
“It know it does my green one,” Eighth Sister clicked softly back. “Just stay still.”
“I think I can walk to the medical ward,” Fourth Cousin said, as she tried to stand from where she had slid down against the wall.
“Do not bother,” Eighth Sister said, letting her antenna curl in amusement. “You would not want to make the humans feel useless would you? I’ve already radioed for one.”
“Why would my walking to the medical ward make a human feel useless?” Fourth Cousin asked.
Her pain tight antenna relaxed a bit at the curious statement, and Eighth Sister took that as a good sign. It helped distract them both from the fact that interstitial fluid was leaking out of her damaged joint.
“What is the point of having the base crawling with giant mammals who love nothing better than carrying people around if you don’t let them carry you around when it is useful?” Eighth Sister asked, quirking her mandibles in wry amusement.
“Do they really enjoy lifting and carrying people all that much?” Fourth Cousin asked even as her proboscis lolled out of her mandibles.
“They don’t string their young you know,” Eighth Sister said.
“They don’t?” Fourth Cousin demanded, the shock of that statement actually putting some color back into her frill.
“No,” Eight’s Sister assured her. “They carry them.”
Fourth Cousin’s charmingly wide set eyes sparkled with fascination and Eighth Sister couldn’t help smiling. The home gossip was true enough. Fourth Cousin could easily lure in some second or third brother from even the best of hives with those eyes. Her pleasant musings and unease were both cut short by the sound of pounding footfalls as the requested human came rushing around the corner, pulling his massive form up just short of them and quickly darting his bright bu tiny binocular eyes over them.
“What do you need?” he asked of neither or both of them.
“I seem to require a trip to the medical ward,” Fourth Cousin said, gesturing at her damaged joint. “Would you carry me? I think I can walk but my sister is very overprotective of us younger cousins as you can see.”
The human gave a laugh and exposed the blunt serrations of his mandible to them.
“Sisters can be like that,” he said with a nod as he bent down and following Eighth Sister’s instructions formed a couch with his arms and tenderly lifted Fourth Cousin.
“Do you have sisters?” Fourth Cousin asked as they started to move down the corridor.
“Three,” the human said, “I’m the oldest.”
Fourth Cousin clicked in approbation at the robust little hive.
“But how do you know what older sisters do?” she asked.
“I’ve got five older cousins,” he explained.
“In your father’s garden?” Fourth Cousin asked.
The human glanced curiously at Eighth Sister for explanation.
“Did you share the same living conditions or live separately,” she explained, as Fourth Cousin’s frill pulsed alternately between apology, gratitude, and flashes of pain.
“Oh,” the human said with a nod, “separately. They were the next province over. We’d visit a couple times a year.”
The human kept Fourth Cousin distracted with friendly chat but was distracted when they had to navigate a series of raised support struts that extended above the floor of the base. Eighth Sister saw the pain dominating again in her cousin’s frill and took up the conversation line that had been dropped in the corridor.
“What was the news you wanted to tell me?” Eighth Sister asked.
The question effectively distracted Fourth Cousin as her frill flushed with ensnarement, but she spoke with a commendably Motherly courage in the common language the human understood.
“That the new human as brought a musical instrument with him and is said to be quite skilled in playing,” Fourth Cousin said quietly.
The human holding her glanced down with a pleased smile and Eighth Sister easily concluded that this was the new human of which she spoke.
“Do you like music?” he asked.
“I do,” Fourth Cousin admitted, “and I have heard that this acoustic guitar music is very safe.”
“Safe as can be,” the human agreed. “Would you like me to drop by and play you a little something Earth while your leg’s in the mender pod?”
“This injury hardly requires a mender pod,” Fourth Cousin said, “but I would welcome some music.”
“It’s a date then,” the human said. “I’ll check my off hours with your sleep schedule and see what’s what.”
They arrived at the medical ward and were quickly ushered in by a Third Sister who seemed positively delighted to have a non-human injury for once. The human gently set Fourth Cousin on the bed and strode off with a promise to return with his instrument in due time. Eighth Sister noted that Fourth Cousin watched him go with focused curiosity.
“What focuses you Fourth Cousin?” Eighth Sister asked.
“When I approached you in the corridor,” Fourth Cousin stated, “I was planning on asking your aid in convincing that First Brother to share his music. I had been told that he was quite shy and very hesitant to share his skill.”
“Perhaps your source of information was inaccurate,” Eighth Sister suggested.
“I do not think so,” Fourth Cousin said.
“If I might suggest,” the Third Sister medic offered.
Eighth Sister and Fourth Cousin twitched their antenna respectfully at her.
“Humans have distinctly different rules for injured cadre-mates than healthy cadre-mates,” the Third Sister said. “Since you are injured the human is all but socially required to offer you the entertainment of his music.”
“Curious,” Eighth Sister said. “Convenient, but curious.”



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 The Siege That Wasn’t A Siege–Is This Ignorance or Deep Metaphor The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 4


Hello my wonderful viewers and welcome to another episode of Betty Adams Over Analyzes. Today we are taking a fully and completely spoilery look at “The Siege” Season 2 Episode 4 of The Mandalorian, or Chapter 12.
Do recall there will be so many spoilers in this episode. Now then.
First and foremost I want to demand if any of the creators at Lucas Film even know what a siege is, because there is no siege, or even anything that could be debateably called a siege in this episode.
There is an infiltration. There are several running battles. There is a chase scene. There are dogfights. There was no siege.
What is a siege?  

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 Humans are Weird – Old Jingles


The harsh light of three suns was filtering through the roof of the basking dome and giving the Earth plants that grew from the hydroponic tubes a warm green glow. All things considered the dome was the most comfortable place to be in the searing afternoon. At least when your options were the stagnant pools and barely moving streams of the base.
Tumblesright was cuddling comfortably with the newest addition to the base. A rather phlegmatic nurse fresh from the central xenobiology University. Given that they had been silent for nearly an hour Tumblesright shifted and decided some light conversation was in order.
“Have you heard Human Friend O’Conner today?” Tumblesright asked
“He is the human who glows the brightest correct?” Shiftsindiferently asked.
“Yes,” Tumblesright confirmed. “His outer membrane is optimized for solar collection. That is why he has to be so careful about going out of the base shielding.”
“What happens if he goes out without his protective gear?” Shiftsindiferently asked. “I note that none of the other humans are quite so strict about layering on the oils and material shielding.”
“That is a good sounding,” Tumblesright said. “They have informed me that the rest of the humans on base have a biochemical gradient in their outer membrane that offers some protection, but reduces their ability to produces certain chemicals necessary for their immune response. Without such a great concentration of this chemical Human Friend O’Conner suffers from increased damage from the ultraviolet light spectrum.”
Tumblesright reached up a gripping appendage and patted the uppermost portion of Shiftsindiferently’s core in a preemptive gesture of comfort.
“Several weeks ago he felt the need to rush out of the base without his shielding to prevent one of the smaller repulsor transports from drifting away in a particularly heavy wind we had,” Tumblesright explained. “Once he was out he realized that all of them were being moved and so he felt obligated to secure them to the ground with sturdy cables.”
“Why did he not simply deactivate the gravitational function?” Shiftsindiferently asked.
“Oh, he had by that point,” Tumblesright said with a dismissive wave. “Apparently the wingform of the transports meant the wind gusts were capable of moving them without assistance.”
Shiftsindiferently gave a hum of respectful appreciation at the natural forces.
“With one thing and another Human Friend O’Conner was out in the solar radiation for nearly a quarter of an hour,” Tumblesright went on. “When he came back in his exposed skin, and even that covered by his duty clothing, was glowing with a fantastical and rather ominous light.”
“Was his fear causing the change?” Shiftsindiferently asked.
“Oh no,” Tumblesright said, “in the rush of the duties to preform he had actually forgotten about his danger entirely. He was quite pleased with the results when he came in.”
“What was causing the ominous glow then?” Shiftsindiferetly asked.
“The uppermost layer of his external membrane had taken terminal damage,” Tumblesright said, making sure to give his companion a soothing stroke with the information. “The glow came from a large percentage of his cells, you know those strange little bodies most of the other species seem to be made of, simply self destructed to prevent tumorous growth.”
“He lost a large portion of his outer membrane?” Shiftsindiferently demanded, stiffening his appendages in horror.
“It was gradual,” Tumblesright assured him, slipping several appendages of his own into Shiftsindiferently’s in a comforting grasp. “Their bodies have mechanisms to limit the danger of this very thing, however he was in such pain that he could not stand to be touched for days afterwards.”
Shiftsindiferently gave a prolonged shudder and snuggled closer to Tumblesright.
“He was well enough to jest about the situation,” Tumblesright said. “He called the process lobstering up for dinner.”
“What is that reference to?” Shiftsindiferently asked.
“Apparently,” Tumblesright said, “humans have a tradition where they boil certain crustacean species alive to prepare them for consumption.”
It occurred to Tumblesright that that little human tradition might not have been a comforting bit of information to add to the situation as Shiftsindiferently stiffened.
“Has he been so injured recently?” Shiftsindiferently asked.
“Oh no!” Tumblesright assured him. “That is not at all why I brought him up. Indeed he is feeling very well. That is what led to his singing.”
“Singing?” Shiftsindiferently said, relaxing and raising an appendage in interest. “I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing a human sing in person.”
“It is was quite odd but it was singing,” Tumblesright went on. “He only appears to do it unconciously and stops when he notes he is observed.”
“Does he wish to conceal the singing?” Shiftsindiferently asked with a set of disappointment down his core.
“I asked him and he assured me he did not,” Tumblesright said. “He simply only feels the pulse of the song when he is distracted and moving. You will probably have a chance to observe it randomly. If you do not I noted that he almost always starts singing when he passes the communal rest perch for the Winged at the end of their shift. He says something about the way they hold their wings inspires a particular song.”
“But how can he feel the pulse if they can observe him?” Shiftsindiferently asked in confusion.
“Humans are very contradictory creatures,” Tumblesright said.
They chatted for a bit longer before swimming out to their duties. As fortune would have it they met again just as the shifts were changing and the Winged were settling into their perches for the early afternoon communal. It was quite pleasant in itself to watch the mutual grooming ritual. Although the hundreds of swift and minute movements were far too much for an Undulate to follow in detail the sense of comradary and peace translated quite well from the flight of Winged to the pair of Undulates watching from below. In them the flight settled down and hung from their perches, wings enclosing their bodies. Some time passed but soon enough the odd double thumping of the human’s locomotion filled the room.
Human Friend O’Conner entered the building, his massive carrying container slung over one shoulder. He wasn’t singing when he crossed the corridor but as he turned the corner and passed the rest tree he began humming, and before he passed through the other door he had broken into soft song.
“Hot cross buns, hot cross buns, one a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns.”
The soft music followed the human down the corridor as they watched him go.
“Beautiful!” Shiftsindiferently observed once the sound died away. “What is the history of that song?”
“Oh, it’s quite ancient,” Tumblesright assured him. “Centuries, if not millennia old. I am told it was an advertisement for one of their baked foodstuffs at its conception but it has long sense lost that meaning.”
“Curious,” Shiftsindiferently noted. “What about a tree full of Winged could remind him of baked goods?”



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 NOPE - Ya’ll’re Just Plain WRONG About the Mandalorian – This Clearly Isn’t the Show You Think It Is


Hello my wonderful viewers and welcome to another episode of Betty Adams Overanlyzes. Today we are going to look at what kind of show the Mandalorian is exactly. Now I know that is a funny sort of question. Isn’t it obvious what the show is about? Its single greatest selling point is how simple it is after all. However there really does seem to be a lot of confusion out and about in the fandom about this. So let’s take a look and see if we can figure out what the show is about, and why people seem to be having such a hard time seeing that.  

 Humans are Weird – Mixing it Up


A sound unlike any other Watches The Approaching Flames had ever heard in his life gusted through the room and he shuffled his mass in fascination. The movement dislodged a particularly nutrient rich leaf he had just selected from the exotics buffet and it fell to the floor with a wet susurration. A passing Undulate picked it up and lifted it up to toss it back on Watches The Approaching Flames movement tray.
“Thank you Friend Undulate,” Watches The Approaching Flames said.
The Undulate rotated in what Watches The Approaching Flames thought was a friendly reply before shuffling off. Watches The Approaching Flames debated asking the Undulate what the sound was but the chances that the barely covered first year would know were even less likely than the chance that Watches The Approaching Flames could articulate the complex question with his sound generating fibers fast enough to express himself before the fast moving being was out of hearing range.
Direct investigation was clearly the best course of action and Watches the Approaching Flames quickly raised the acidity over the controls of his movement tray and backed away from the buffet counter. It still puzzled him why the rest of the sapient races all agreed that keeping their nutrient sources raised was a necessary safety precaution. They were unanimous in this though the degree of elevation did seem to vary consistently with each species average size. However he sidelined that thought thread as he carefully maneuvered his movement tray out of the cafeteria.
This rapid movement of his core mass was still a giddy experience, though his larger-massed companions assured him that he would get used to the sensation over time. It was just a matter of imaging your core mass to be simply a set of tendrils you were sending out questing. However he still needed to practice the newly budded method of physically extending a cluster of leading tendrils outside of his bio-mass in the direction he intended to go. He hoped he would be past this sign of inexperience soon but today it was still needed as he traced the sounds.
They led him down a few corridors to the main computing lab. The strange noise had altered to a more recognizable sound by this time. One of the human lab technicians, he believed that the Undulates called him Human Friend Bill, was softly chanting what sounded like pleading denials of reality.
Watches the Approaching Flames was fascinated and guided his movement tray closer to the human who was manipulating the controls of the extreme dehydration oven with frantic and nearly disordered movements. Had Human Friend Bill been a biped form of his own species his movements would have been considered precise. However the flesh tight mammals were renowned for their fine motor control. On further inspection Watches the Approaching Flames noted that the human had allowed his dead-attached tendrils to extend from his primary light sensory region and chemoreceptor concentration area. Human Friend Bill was also offgassing in greater concentrations than usual but Watches the Approaching Flames couldn’t identify what emotion it indicated.
“No, no, no, please no!” the human ended the chant with a groan and dropped the broad surface above his light receptors against the top of the oven.
Watches the Approaching Flames carefully lifted his sound generating fibers and tuned them to the humans’ hearing range.
“Are you tasting distress Human Friend Bill?” Watching the Approaching Flames asked.
Human Friend Bill glanced around but didn’t seem to be able to locate the source of the sound. Watching the Approaching Flames suddenly recalled the binocular nature of the humans’ preferred sensory method and shifted his movement tray to create movement to catch the directional vision.
Human Friend Bill directed his light receptors down to Watches the Approaching Flames and his face crumpled and flexed a few times as the great, concentrated node encased in his skull processed the question. Finally the human sighed and stiffened his mass to pull his bipedal frame upright.
“Yeah, I’m a bit distressed,” Human Friend Bill said, then expelled a massive burst of atmosphere. “Which one are you again?”
“I do not believe we have been formally introduced,” Watches the Approaches Flames said. “My sound wave designation is Watches the Approaching Flames.”
“Nice to meet you,” Human Friend Bill said, but his attention seemed to focus far more exclusively on Watches the Approaching Flames.
“So you like to live dangerously?” he asked.
Watches the Approaching Flames gave a little shuffle of confusion at that and Human Friend Bill drew in another long breath before expelling it.
“My distress, right,” he ran one of his dense extremities over his face. “You asked a question, I gotta answer it.”
“This,” he indicated the oven. “Is where I was desiccating my, chemical defoliation chemical overnight and I bungled the mixture so all the chemicals separated and now I have a dish full of useless toxic waste instead of a couple litters of necessary defoliation jell.”
Watches the Approaching Flames generated a hum of sympathy.
“Did someone interfere with your project in the night?” he asked. “That was very inconsiderate.”
“No,” the human said rubbing his face again and giving a long low sound of frustration. “That’s the thing. I just bungled mixing the chemicals last night.”
“Were you misinformed of the required composition?” Watches the Approaching Flames asked.
“Nope,” the human replied as he began to pull the protective covering over his hands and shifted his sensory loci shields over his face. “I was just tired when I mixed them and didn’t follow the procedure correctly.”
Watches the Approaching Flames observed the process with fascination as the human quickly pulled the container out of the oven and moved to drop it into the hazardous waste sink.
“Wouldn’t it have been wiser to wait to mix the chemicals until you were better rested?” Watches the Approaching Flames asked.
The human’s face twitched hard and his off-gassing profile changed with an internal emotional shift.
“Yes,” the human said curtly. “Yes it would have been much wiser.”
Human Friend Bill bent over the sink as he began the rapid process of removing the congealed mass from the container by brute physical force. Watches the Approaching Flames wasn’t sure but his interpretation of the human interactions manual suggested that this was a dismissal. He had after all discovered the source of the sound so he supposed he should return to his duties. The human had begun muttering to himself again, a sound inter-spaced by occasional sharp interjections depreciating the human’s own intelligence. Watches the Approaching Flames thought the interaction very odd, even by human standards and decided to press Human Friend Bill for more information when he was off duty. It promised to be very enlightening.  

 The Heiress – The Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 3- A Fake-out, A Stakeout, and Evil Calamari Take Out



Hello my wonderful viewers and welcome to another episode of Betty Adams Overanalyzes. This will be the spoiler free review and analysis of the Mandalorian Season 2 Episode 3 – Chapter 11- The Heiress. WayHAY and UP she rises have I mentioned that I positively adore this show? This episode was a master class is fake outs, visual artistic brilliance, staying true to your story and the stories that came before while forging new paths for the story.


You walk into a museum and take a deep breath of that museum smell. The air is cool around you but you know museums are like this. Something about preserving the artifacts. They must be cool and dry. You thought ahead and wore a warm sweater. It is almost too warm, a heavy knit thing that some uncle loaned your father in the far off time before you were. You let the fraying sleeves slip down past your hands as you wander towards the exhibit of paintings that the museum has been advertising for weeks. The initial crowds have come and gone. A single school group trots after an eager young teacher and you drift away from them to examine the paintings.
One catches your eye. It is mostly shades of blue and brown. A fishing port from a hundred years ago in some northern Eurasian coast. Dark clouds crowd the sky, the foreground is full of a thousand things, familiar and alien at the same time, fishing nets, pulleys interwoven with ropes, buckets, all just subtly different, made alien instead of merely mundane by the passage of that great old enemy, time.
Then you note what caught your eye. The old fisher man in the foreground, the one who glares at you from over his shoulder for interpreting his work, he is wearing the same sweater as you. Even in the broad stokes of the oil paint you can see the weave of the wool and you smile as you curl your fingers in the soft threads. You and this alien being share something.