Humans are Weird – Cutting Loose 

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“Do understand,” Base Commander Fifteenth Trill said as gently as he could, “we just want to understand.”

The human in front of him slouched in the chair. She very deliberately glanced to the window. The massive rings of muscle in her odd, concentric eyes contracted as she focused on the branches of a tree in the middle distance. Her massive digits began to writhe. They twined with their mates on the other hand and untwined again. She shifted her center of mass and glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes.

Base Commander Fifteenth Trill recalled his psychology training and squared his primary joints on either side of his head. He tilted his head up to put his sensory horn on display and fixed the human with what he hopped was a firm stare. He needed to let the silence be his ally. Humans couldn’t stand being quietly watched. Hopefully he was reading this situation correctly. After a moment the human heaved an unnecessarily loud sigh and hunched her shoulders.

“Don’ know,” she said. “Sir.” She threw out as an afterthought.

“Let us review the facts then,” Fifteenth Trill said, pulling up the report on his tablet.

The human winced and glanced at him furtively before returning her gaze to the tree.

“Now you are rated as a mechanic,” Fifteenth Trill stated.

“Yeah,” the human confirmed.

“You are not rated as a biologist in any biology sub-field?” Fifteenth Trill asked.

“Not a bit,” the human agreed as a smile flitted across her face and then flew off.

“Yet you spent no small amount of your private funds to requisition the collection of over five thousand,” he hesitated over the complex scientific name of the species.

The human’s interested perked up and she openly grinned as she looked at him.

“Crabbits!” she said in an eager tone. “Cuz’ they look like little crabby crickets!”

“Crabbits,” Fifteenth Trill agreed. “You commissioned the collection of over five thousand crabbits and received the delivery of said at seventh hour this morning at atmospheric shuttle dock seven.”

“Could’a been seven,” the human said with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly notice.”

“I sound,” Fifteenth Trill replied. “Nevertheless you then took the container of crabbits and-“
“It was cold,” she interjected. “I took ‘em to the cafeteria to warm up first.”
Fifteenth Trill stared blankly at her for a moment, taking in the smug smile, the frank admission of premeditation, and the utterly unapologetic glint in her concentric eyes.
“You took them to the cafeteria to warm up,” Fifteenth Trill repeated as he added that note to the log.
“Yeah,” the human bobbed her head eagerly. “They don’t move much when their cold ya’ see! So I warmed ‘em up so they were nice and ready to bolt when the first bell rang.”

Fifteenth Trill heaved a sigh and turned back to his log.

“So you very deliberately waited until the first break of the day,” he said, “and went to the primary traffic juncture of the base during the busiest time locus, and released the warmed crabbits into the hallway.”

The human began spasming with barely suppressed laughter as he finished.

“You should’a seen the Trisk!” She gasped out. “I didn’t know those little legs could move that fast!”

“Which,” Fifteenth Trill said firmly, trying to get the conversation back on track, “brings us back to my original question. Why did you do it?”

The humor slowly faded out of the human’s flushed face and she slumped back in the chair. Her shoulders shrugged again.

“Don’ know,” she said, tossing her chin defiantly.

Fifteenth Trill gave a low groan and regretted not pressing harder for that Shatar personnel officer he had been denied. 

​Thank you all so much for your updoots and feedback. It gives me the will to go on. Want to see more? Think about becoming a Patreon. Tea refuses to buy itself and the more time one has to spend on a day job the less time there is for befuddled aliens. 


Humans are Weird – A Bit of Damage

“Yo! Fives!” First Field Ranger called out.

Fifth Sister let her frill ripple in amused irritation at the shortening of her designation and the friendly imposition it showed.  She tilted her head to focus on the approaching human and shifted her tablet to reach a hand out in greeting.

“Yo.” She awkwardly used the informal greeting. “First Field Ranger. How are you?”

“Fair to middling,” First Field Ranger answered, swinging the mug of coffee he was drinking with one hand while his other was clamped tightly to his side.

Fifth Sister curled her antenna in suspicion as she realized that the human was holding the mug in his left hand. He was still dressed in the full membrane covering that they wore under their extravehicular activity suits. The tight angle of his lips suggested the rigid control they used when hiding some emotion.

“I was wondering if you could pop over to the storage bay and take a look at my suit?” the human went on. “Took a bit of damage while I was out this morning and I want to know how long it’ll be out of commission.”

“That is well within my duties,” Fifth Sister said slowly.

The human was clearly hiding something. She wasn’t sure what but she had enough experience with the species for her frill edge to be prickling. She just wasn’t sure at what yet, other than that the distinctly asymmetrical First Field Ranger was using his non-dominant hand when his dominant hand was clearly free.

“Great!” The human bobbed his head eagerly. “Can you have that done by lunch? If you can then I’ll send the data to the fab-bay for parts but I have things to do and places to go before then.”

“I can fit that in my schedule,” she said.

“You’re a life saver Fives!” the human called out before pivoting and strolling down the corridor.

Fifth Sister flicked her antenna in irritation. Rudeness aside, the human’s bipedal stride also displayed the strange, overly controlled movements that his facial expression had.  She flicked out her antenna in frustration and continued to the storage bay. The stench of evaporated poly-carbons caused her antenna to curl as the doors cycled open. The source of the reek wasn’t hard to find. The human’s suit was hanging on the storage rack. The armor plating was missing a significant portion of the mass it had boasted this morning.
Fifth Sister crossed the bay slowly, her frill and antenna extending in shock. She reached out and spread her digits over the damaged surface. She couldn’t reach the outer edge of even the central portion of the damage. The armor had clearly taken an energy blast, perhaps a stray laser discharge, the inspection should tell her. Whatever the cause, the outer layer had experienced a massive evaporative explosion incident.

“The force would have torn outer membrane,” she clicked to herself.

She shook out her frill and reminded herself that this was a human she was dealing with. Membrane damage meant very little to them. It was that peculiar calcium rich endoskeleton that would have taken the blunt force damage.  She recalled the odd position of First Field Ranger’s dominant hand. As if it had been offering support to something internal.

Fifth Sister clicked her mandible in frustration as she activated the scanners on her tablet. Of course her work would be done by the time First Field Ranger returned. However analysis and repair of damaged materials was not her only function. She dialed up the medical bay as she worked.

“Greetings Third Sister,” she said politely, “I suspect that First Field Ranger is attempting to hide an endoskeleton fracture.”

On the screen Third Sister’s antenna barely flicked with surprise.

“Where will be the best place to catch him?” Third Sister asked.

“I suggest you conceal yourself near the chocolate,” Fifth Sister advised. “They seem most vulnerable there.” 

Humans are Weird – A Hole in One

Thank you all so much for your updoots and feedback. It gives me the will to go on. Want to see more? Think about becoming a Patreon.  Tea refuses to buy itself and the more time one has to spend on a day job the less time there is for befuddled aliens. 


“It is a tradition of course,” Wavesreach explained as she adjusted the cap over her gripping appendages and shifted the kilt to an easier position on her lagging end.

“Traditions are not easily explained even to member of your own species let alone others,” Wavesreach went on in cheerful tones that were utterly devoid of gestures.

Rolls-slowly tried to shake the uncanny valley sensation that caused in him.

“Hand me the lagging appendage cutting implement please,” Wavesreach gestured at the item encased in the fibrous cloth.

Rolls-slowly passed it over.

“Sock-knife,” he corrected.

Wavesreach gave a gesture of confusion as she slipped the tube and its dangerous contents over her lagging appendage.

“I heard Human Friend Bree call it a Scottish sock knife,” he explained.

Wavesreach gave a hum of acknowledgement as she pulled the sack called a sporran up to her midpoint and tightened the straps that held it down.

“And this is the traditional dress for this occasion?” He asked, unable to shake the dubious feeling.

“Human Friend MacCloud assured me it was as practicably accurate as her gran could make it,” she said. “How to I feel?”

She shuffled around to display the outfit, waving her much roughened gripping appendages to show how free for motion they were.

“You feel very, very strange” Rolls-slowly replied with as much honesty as he could muster.

Wavesreach positively rippled with humor even as several appendages adjusted the kilt to keep it and the sporran in place.

“Now what is my role in this game?” he asked.

“The sport requires so much equipment that a secondary player position was invented simply to carry it all,” she explained. “Therefore my gripping appendage will be free to wield the …”

“The club,” he offered handing her the long, skinny tool. “Shouldn’t they have scaled down the size, or at least the mass for you? They did with the uniform.”

“They offered,” Wavesreach replied with a dismissive shrug. “But I wanted to get a feel for the game as it’s supposed to be played first. As the requirements are all in clenching and gripping strength I have a hypothesis that I might be able to compete directly in this sport.”

She took the club and demonstrated with a few brief gestures what she meant. Rolls-slowly backed away from the lashing bar of carbon enforced steel at his fastest shuffle.

“This caddy job,” he asked uneasily. “It can be done from a safe distance of course?”

“Of course,” she replied cheerfully as she slid the club back into its sheath. “The equipment sheath is motorized and will follow you so all you have to do is pull out the clubs and bring the ones I ask for. I won’t be swinging then.”

“I did have a question about the scoring,” he said as they began to amble towards where the humans were waiting.

She gave him a gesture to continue.

“Counting the number of times you give a full gesture of the club at the ball per successful attempts to angle the ball into the hole seems empirical enough,” Rolls-slowly went on.  “But how do I score the profanity ratio?”

“I have no idea,” Wavesreach said cheerfully. “You have memorized the list of human profanities and their proper usage?”

“I have notes to check,” he replied.

“That will have to do,” she consented. “Just ask the human caddy if you’re not sure how to score me there. Also I will stick only to human profanities for this game. That should keep it simple.”

“What if the human begins using our profanities?” Rolls-slowly asked in concern.
​
“That is her caddy’s concern,” Wavesreach said dismissively. “Now come on. I want to prove today that I have the stamina for all eighteen vectors! Maybe next time she’ll agree to play with sand traps!”