 Tips for having a safe thanksgiving.
#1 Before choosing a turkey, know your position on the food chain! http://freefall.purrsia.com/ #Turkeyday #Thanksgiving #Turkey #Foodchain
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 Humans are Weird - Thinking Pants Commander Pulp woke from a delicious dream of eating a giant loaf of the richest bread when the steady thumping of a distant mill grew discordant. As the layers of haze cleared from his mind he realized that the sound was not a part of the dream at all, but came from outside his sleeping chamber. He reached over to nudge his sleep companion, only to find empty space and heaved a sigh. On such a thinly operated base it was no surprise that it was a struggle to find sleeping companions with truly compatible schedules, but it was still annoying to fall asleep with a comforting presence by your side only to wake up cold and alone. Commander Pulp gave a leisurely stretch and scented the air. The clock was filling the air with the first scents of dew, and none of the harsher volatiles that would wake him, so he didn’t technically have to be up for some time. He might try to get back to sleep and finish that dream loaf. However he did feel fully rested and that odd thumping was going on outside his door, so he let himself slither off of his sleeping rock and onto the cool floor. The change in temperature on his paws sent a shiver through his scutes and he held his belly off the floor as he moved to the bathroom and began scrubbing his scales over the wall mounted brushes. A little detail work on his claws and snout and he felt himself ready to face whatever the early morning might bring. He exited his door and followed the thumping to the main corridor where the three humans currently assigned to the base were carrying massive bags of grain towards the main lab, and empty bags away. They seemed focused, expect for the new female, one Private Johnson, who was wearing clothing that was far too lose to be safe around machinery, and was moving with less coordination than the other two indicating that she had been roused from sleep for whatever emergency required the oddly timed loading of the grain. Commander Pulp considered going to the lab to see what was wrong, it could not be anything too serious or he would have been deliberately woken, but decided that the current crew looked like they had it under their talon, and furthermore that he had no desire to cross the paths of the giant lumbering mammals carrying their mass in dead weight. So he scooted along the wall until he reached his office and pulled up a display. The lab in question had initiated a request for a test run of the new grinding system, however instead a test run being recorded, a full run had been. This had been followed by an emergency request for human support, to which all three humans had responded promptly. The grinder was now running an experimental load set to the smallest pre-determined load size. Commander Pulp gave a yawn and made note to investigate the rather disturbing fact that the new grinding system could not, or at least could not easily and intuitively be shut off once initiated, a serious failure that needed to be addressed, in its due time, and settled down to watch the chaos with mild interest. He reached into a drawer for his special loaf stash, a bit of a let-down after that dream-loaf, and began chewing placidly. The grinder finished it’s predetermined cycle and the thumping from the corridor slowed down and stopped. The request for aid was canceled and Commander Pulp trotted out to observe the humans, mildly curious as to how they would handle this tail-tip of an emergency. Grimes and the other human who had presumably been awake on night shift were standing together chatting lightly about end of shift duties and potentially getting a hot drink together when the other human, still in her too-loose for work clothing came out of the lab with a large yawn, holding a final empty grain sack loosely in one hand. “Johnson!” Grimes called out cheerfully, “what to join us for some knock-off coffee like product?” The female human stared blankly at the other two for such a long time that they began to shift uncomfortably, before she vigorously shook her head and gave another gaping yawn. Commander Pulp firmly tapped down the thought that humans were so cute when they gave their tiny yawns with their little mouths. Experience with Grimes had taught him that that was not an appreciated sentiment. “Can’t do brain things in sleep pants,” Johnson muttered, rubbing her eyes. “Ask when the thinking pants are on.” With that cryptic remark she turned and began to tramp back towards her quarters, presumably to find and put on her ‘thinking pants’ while the other two human laughed in amusement. Commander Pulp darted forward eagerly to catch Grimes’s attention before he turned his mind back to his previous conversation. “Commander,” Grimes greeted him with a tired smile. “Bit of a fracas this morning.” “Yes, yes,” Commander Pulp agreed. “Tell me Grimes, I just overheard a bit of your conversation with Private Johnson, did she just imply that her thought processes are impacted by what clothing she wears?” Grimes blinked in surprise and then nodded. “You know this one though,” he said. “I assure you,” Commander Pulp said, rocking back on his hind legs to make sure Grimes was aware of having his full attention, “I have never heard of thinking pants.” “That is just Johnson’s special form of it,” Grimes said with a dismissive wave of a long hand. “You know how you guys can sleep anywhere really, but you prefer a nice rock nest, and a sleeping companion, and a blanket or two when it’s cold?” Commander Pulp considered this and then bobbed his snout in a human ‘nod’. “You are referring to the psychological benefits of crafting an ideal nest to sleep in,” he said. Grimes and the other night shift human nodded in tandem, both smiling. “For some humans the special clothes are a terribly important part of the nest,” Grimes explained. “Johnson, I am assuming from what I say, mind I never actually discussed this with her, uses very loose, soft natural-fiber weaves for her, let’s call them nest clothes, so these prime her brain for a sleep cycle. Then the coarser, tighter clothes of her uniform for instance prime her brain for thinking and working.” “So in order to answer you question she needs her thinking pants,” Commander Pulp said. “Fascinating, to wear a part of one’s sleeping nest on your body.” “Yup,” the other human said with a yawn. “Ya’ know what though Grimes? I think I’m gonna change my mind about that cup of fake coffee and go to my sleeping nest. This was a beauty of a topper for a long shift and I think I’ll go to bed early.” “Do you too wear sleeping pants?” Commander Pulp asked. The human laughed and shook his head. “Don’t wear no pants for sleep,” he said, “like you lizard folk I prefer to keep my nest in one place and not wear it around on me. Night.” With that the human turned and wandered off. Commander Pulp turned to Grimes with interest. “I used to sleep nude,” Grimes informed him, seeming to intuit his question. “But aliens with scales and claws kept climbing into my bed at all hours so I switched to long pajamas.” “That happened once,” Commander Pulp said with an annoyed huff. Grimes rolled his eyes in that disconcerting way humans had. “Once with you,” he corrected. The floor began to vibrate with the approach of Johnson, presumably in her ‘thinking pants’ and Commander Pulp turned his attention from the now rather annoying conversation to determine what the practical difference was between the two clothing types.   Humans are Weird - FailureFirst Medic carefully straightened her datapad on the desk in front of her and dabbed at her eyes with her proboscis before responding to Second Ornithologist, a visiting First Cousin, standing in front of her work station. The off-world First Cousin was tall and hearty enough to have been a First Sister on her homeworld, with a mind that grasped every coil with speed and energy. First Medic reminded herself that their much smaller hive, was lucky to have secured Second Ornithologist and it would be both practically foolish as wells a politically stupid for a Second Sister to condensed to a cousin who was taller, older, and more massive than her. “You want to, borrow, to call out of his own garden, my hive’s First Grandfather for morale purposes?” First Medic said, forcing her voice into non-judgmental tones. She was reasonably certain that her antenna were not expressing her affront at the concept but she couldn’t quite vouch for the color of her frill. Second Ornithologist flicked her antenna in curt agreement as one of her hindlegs tapped the ground in an irritated gesture she should have molted out of by now even if she was just a cousin and not a sister. “Of course an Undulate Friend, or even one of the lizard folk would be better,” Second Ornithologist clicked out, “but the psychological benefit of an experienced Grandfather is better than nothing, even if the human can’t really hug on him.” First Medic forced her body language to remain calm as she untangled the diverse mess of affront that caused. “Perhaps if you told me what the problem actually was,” she finally managed to suggest in tighter tones than she meant to. Fortunately Second Ornithologist did not seem offended, only as frustrated as she was when she came in to propose this. “My department is currently working on propagating domestic avian species,” she began. “Yes,” First Medic said, encouraging the thought vine as Second Ornithologist seemed to be struggling a bit with where to grasp the story. “Primarily for pest control I understand. To get rid of those biting mites.” Second Ornithologist flicked her antenna in agreement. “This year we hatched out only twenty-four of a particular species. I was assisting but First Ornithologist did most of the work on the project. It was unfortunately, nearly a complete failure.” “The hatchlings did not survive?” First Medic asked, genuinely curious now how this vine could possibly tie back to her First Grandfather. He was of course a skilled gardener, but he had never handled avian species in any form. “They all made it to nearly mature size,” Second Ornithologist said, “however they began dying of some mysterious cause one at a time. There is one left, but it is a male.” “So you will diagnose the problem and try again next year,” First Medic pointed out. “Of course!” Second Ornithologist snapped, her frill positively rippling with frustration. “That is what I told her! These things happen and even if she was at fault we will simply try again.” The first faint bud of understanding began to peep out in First Medic’s awareness. “You refer to First Ornithologist,” she said. Second Ornithologist twitched her antenna in confirmation and her hind leg began tapping faster. “First Ornithologist has always been emotionally stable and rational,” Second Ornithologist said. “But in this matter she has been sulking around...dragging her feet! I did not know what that phrase even meant before this incident, but she is actually dragging her feet around, making this positively frill-tightening sound, and releasing these sighs, so loud you would think they are words, but when I ask her she insists she said nothing!” “And what do you think is causing this increase in emotional instability?”First Medic asked, actually opening a file on the incident. This did appear to be more than a cousin’s irritability after all. “Her First Father took her mate off world,” Second Ornithologist said, not bothering to hide the scandalized set of her antenna. First Medic started and nearly dropped her datapad. “But her First Father is only just transitioning to Grandfather!” she exclaimed. “And she and her mate have only been together for a year!” “I am aware,” Second Ornithologist replied, rubbing between her antenna in an obvious attempt to loosen them up. “There is some task needing to be done on the third moon that her First Father was responsible for and her mate went as a matter of safety. I suggested that she could go with them, but she insisted that she would be ‘fine’.” “And she is not,” First Medic said with understanding causing her frill to relax a bit. “Not with no males in her hive to comfort her after she had settled down to build her own garden.” “Her First Mother is of course comforting her but it does not seem to prevent her from filling every space she is in with distress pheromones,” Second Ornithologist went on. “That explains the foot,” First Medic said softly letting her antenna coil in amusement. Second Ornithologist looked perplexed a moment, and then firmly stilled her twitching hind-leg. “Can your hive spare a Grandfather for morale purposes?” Second Ornithologist asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her antenna. “First Grandfather left planet with First Grandmother just yesterday,” First Medic said, shaking out her frill. However Second Grandfather is not only available but has an existing relationship with the human hives on this world. I will contact him and see if he will be willing to poke an antenna into the situation.” “Thank you,” Second Ornithologist said somewhat stiffly. First Medic made a note that the humans were perhaps not the only ones needing comfort in this situation.   Humans are Weird - Make Do Quilx’tch carefully removed the sterilized soil from the oven and made sure that all of his motile paws were firmly planted before scuttling sideways to the heat resistant work counter. By the time he reached it the heat of the container had bled through his improvised oven-mitts and he could feel the fur on his gripping paws singing slightly as he eased the heavy container onto the counter. Quilx’tch shook out his gripping paws with a relieved sigh and examined his talons thoughtfully, wondering if the stinging sensation was worth bothering the base medic about. Deciding not as it faded he set the sheet of metal over the container to preserve the sterile soil and scampered over to examine the seeds germinating in the damp folds of human cloth. He lifted the edge of the cloth and was satisfied with the number of roots growing out of the seeds. However the roots were tangling with the fibers of the rough human cloth and might suffer some damage when removed. Quilx’tch gave a click of annoyance and let the corner of the cloth drop as he trotted out of the sterile workspace, being careful not to jostle the taped together sides of the airlock too hard. On the spider-walk outside he paused and tasted the air thoughtfully. As a cultural observer his job was technically never done, but he had finalized every formal report he could think of writing for his expedition days ago and was somewhat at the end of a fraying web for something to do. He rubbed his still stinging talons against a leg until the smell of heated carbohydrates drifted up to him. With a happy click Quilx’tch headed to the human sized kitchens. As he expected the chef-of-the-day, Human Friend Grover, was busily preparing the meals for the crew. “What is good today?” Quilx’tch greeted the human, scampering onto the broad shoulders. “Well my tiny-taste-testing friend!” Grover called out in a bright and cheerful tone, indicating the steaming hot drinks. “We have steamed oat water, unleavened oat cakes with a tomato-puree topping, boiled algae for nutrients and greens, and for dessert?” He pulled several round items out of the steamer, the ones responsible for the smell on the air that had lured Quilx’tch into the kitchen, with a dramatic flourish, “oat balls sweetened with my secret sauce!” Quilx’tch angled his primary eyes at the bottle of gear lubricant, clearly marked not for consumption, and shifted his paws uneasily. He said nothing, and Grover did not turn his bi-focal mammalian eyes on him, but the human clearly sensed his unease. The shoulders slumped and the human heaved a massive sigh. “Look Quick buddy,” Grover said in a glum tone as he began serving the oat balls onto each plate. “There is nothing in the secret sauce that is actually toxic, not at these concentrations, and it does read as sweet to human taste.” “That is a consideration,” Quilx’tch said giving the human’s ear a sympathetic pat. “Food is very important for keeping moral up.” “The algae we can harvest here is good for nutrients but no one can make it taste less like sludge,” Grover said in a glum tone. “We have plenty of oats so we are not exactly going to starve, but until that supply ship finally gets here we need to get creative about our food. I mean, push comes to shove we can just eat the oat sprouted and raw, but…” Grover waved his serving spoon in demonstration of some point and Quilx’tch patted his ear again. “You are managing very well,” Quilx’tch assured him. “How are your foodstuffs going by the by?” Grover asked, as a rumble in the base announced the approach of the other humans. “The emergency seeds will produce viable plants long before my existing stores run out,” Quilx’tch assured him. “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” Grover added with a sigh as he removed his apron, nearly dislodging Quilx’tch in the process. Quilx’tch made two mental notes. One, to point out that their main base was nowhere near a ‘creek’ so flooding would have no effect on his food supplies, and two, to be sure to ‘snitch’ to the medic at the return base that these humans should probably be checked for toxin build up when their field time was over.   Humans are Weird - CritiqueNotes the Passing Changes gave the tendrils around the fruit tree a satisfied hum as the final results of the chemical analysis returned. The fruits, a rare, soft fleshed variety of the Earth species known as plums had reached the perfect stage or ripeness. Or at least they had reached the state that Pat and Sandy enjoyed eating the most. Notes the Passing Changes was aware that some humans preferred the fruits to remain on the tree until the flesh was even softer but Sandy insisted that the fruit in such a stage was ‘messy’ and was willing to forgo the added nutritional value for the ease of consumption. Notes the Passing Changes had caused the tree to cut off a certain percentage of the fruit from primary nutrient flow over the past few days in preparation for tonight's social gathering and now gave one final check of the motile-fibers embedded in the branches of the tree before shaking them vigorously. The selected plums fell to the ground, landing in the pile of soft leaves and dried grass that Notes the Passing Changes had prepared. Their shining purple skins stood out against the orange and browns of the leaves for a moment before they, and their leaf beds began to bounce and roll along the prepared pathway through the orchard. Notes the Passing Changes gently shoved the individual fruits up and forward with motile tendrils, making sure to catch them on soft leaves and dried grass that would not damage the outer skins and the fruits moved, slowly at first and then with increasing speed as they made their way towards the dwelling of Pat and Sandy. The human habitation was lit with soft orange lights, specifically attuned to provide useful light for the humans in the growing darkness without interfering with the nocturnal behavior of the local wildlife species. The wooden structure vibrated with the noise of far more than the two regular inhabitants and several more humans were walking down the path to the house, though Notes the Passing Changes realized absently that the closer human had stopped, possibly to allow the one behind him to catch up. The leading human held a large container of some warm liquid that released aromatic steam into the air around him. The lagging human carried a similarly aromatic container, but one that suggested heated grain products inside. Notes the Passing Changes was curious about the items, but for the moment getting the ‘host gift’ of the fruit in required fully concentration. “What are you looking at?” the lagging human asked as she caught up with the leading human. “I...don’t know?” the leading human said, raising a hand to point and follow the progress of the plums. “What on the verdant surface of this world?” the previously lagging human asked. Notes the Passing Changes focused on getting the plums to the grappling vine that Sandy had deliberately grown outside one of the smaller windows for such a purpose. All of their curiosity would be satisfied when they were within the warmth and light of the house and could socialize. The plums reached the based of the window and Notes the Passing Changes carefully manipulated the grappling vine to pass the fruit up to the window with the special latch. Sandy had promised to have a bowl ready to accept the host gift however the light coming through the window showed only a flat table. When all the plums were at the level of the window Notes the Passing Changes shifted a locus of attention to the indoor plant Pat and Sandy kept for the use of socialization and carefully rang the small, silver bells to call awareness to the presence of another sapient in the room. “Notes is here!” called out a distance muffled voice as Notes the Passing Change’s awareness crystallized in the structure. The general shuffle of bodies in the carbon dioxide rich air resolved itself into the comfortable chaos of a human social event. Other than the first greeting no one took particular notice of Notes the Passing Changes’s arrival. After a few moments Pat hurried by with several bottles of liquid in his hands as he chatted with one of the other humans. “Pat,” Notes the Passing Changes called out. “Notes!” Pat greeted him cheerfully, “Glad you could make it. Can I get you anything?” “I do require a bowl for my host gift,” Notes the Passing Changes pointed out. “Its on the delivery table-no its not…” Pat said twisting his head around as he surveyed the room. “Sorry bout that Notes, just give me a minute.” Pat altered his course, found a container of the right size on top of some shelf, and set it on the relevant table before moving to had the bottles to anther guest. Notes the Passing Changes opened the window and deposited the plums in the bowl before resuming quiet observation of the room. One of the humans was standing and giving most of his attention to a projector that dangled from the ceiling, the rest of the humans were gathered in small groups talking about various subjects, but mostly focused on human media. Sandy was moving in and out of the food preparation area, focused on her duties as a host, setting out the various food and drink items brought by the others in what was presumably an efficient dispersal pattern. She finally seemed to notice the plums and came over to them with a sound of delight. “Notes! Thank you!” Sandy said as she picked up one of the fruits and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll just set these by th-” “Sandy! You have opinions on “Vengeance of the Revenge IV right?” someone called out. “Not while there’s snacks that need ta’ be set out yet!” Sandy called back with a laugh, picking up the bowl and moving it towards the surfaces covered with other foodstuffs. The general chaos continued until the human working the projector seemed to call the gathering to order and began listing a set of rules for socially interacting during the display of the chosen media, which instructions the crowd of humans seemed to find highly amusing despite them seeming to be reasonable and generally acceptable. Pat wandered over and leaned against the wall beside Notes the Passing Changes’s plant. “Enjoying yer’self so far pal?” Pat asked. “Quite,” Notes the Passing Changes agreed. “This is very interesting so far.” “It’s yer first Terrible Movie Night isn’t it?” Pat continued, taking a sip of the drink he was holding. “Yes,” Notes the Passing Changes agreed. “For all the others I was either too diffuse, or it was in a structure I did not have access too. May I ask a potentially awkward question?” Pat gave a snort of amusement and nodded. “Why is Second Sister not in attendance?” Notes the Passing Changes asked. “Was she not invited?” “Ah,” Pat said with a rueful grin. “Nah mate, she was invited, but it was just a social formality that. See, Shatar really don’t see the point of Terrible Movie Night.” “Is not the point simply socialization and art appreciation?” Notes the Passing Changes asked. “I had thought that Shatar valued both highly.” “They do, they do,” Pat said with a grin. “Thing is, we humans also value the fun you get outta tearing a proper bad bit o’ art to pieces. Metaphorically of course, and let me tell you, once our ancestors found out how easy and cheap it was to mass produce media each time the tech got a little better, well,” Pat laughed a bit ruefully and took a sip of his drink, “they do say ninety-percent of everything is trash, and when you have nine outa’ ten of a very, very big number. There is a lot of terrible movies out there.” “And you get pleasure from watching these movies and criticizing their failures in a social setting?” Notes the Passing Changes asked. Pat nodded vigorously. “And Second Sister? Not so much,” he explained. “Said she found it a right waste of time, and distressing to watch humans arguing so loudly over some thing so silly. So we invite her to let her know she’s welcome but no Shatar has ever really liked to come to Terrible Movie Night.” “Fascinating,” Notes the Passing Changes said as the lights dimmed and the warm mammals stood out in glowing infrared. Sandy took a place on the couch with a large bowl of exploded grains and Pat dragged a chair over sit down by Notes the Passing Changes’s plant. “Do you not prefer to sit by your mate?” Notes the Passing Changes asked in surprise. “Nah,” Pat said with a laugh. “Sandy has a habit o’ punching when the cringe gets to deep. Best to stay out of her strike range.” “How very strange that Second Sister does not appreciative these gatherings,” Notes the Passing observed, and despite a very good impression of sarcasm in the tones Pat only shrugged. “To each their own my friend, to each their own.”  |
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AuthorBetty Adams is an up and coming author with a bent for science and Sci-fi. Archives
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