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Humans are Weird – Communication

12/29/2023

Humans are Weird – Communication

“Have you completed the analysis for the—” Thirty-five Trills cut off the question abruptly as his companion performed one of those contortions nearly unique to humans.
Human Friend Steve’s head swiveled on that preposterous column of a neck, and his eyes focused on the scrubby trees to the side. His face flexed from the polite attention he had been giving Thirty-five Trills and lit up with delight. His throat pulsed noiselessly for a moment and then emitted a series of clicks and trills that were almost intelligible. Thirty-five Trills cast around in confusion to see whom Human Friend Steve was speaking (or attempting to speak) to.
An answering series of the same sounds, again almost intelligible, emanated from the shrub, but this echo carried wild and animalistic undertones that sent Thirty-five Trills shamelessly darting under Human Friend Steve’s hat for cover. One of the nearly invisible granivores was now perched at the end of a branch, seemingly conversing with the human. However they quickly passed on with the human’s long strides, and Human Friend Steve turned his attention back to his sapient companion.
“Have I what now?” Human Friend Steve asked in the same casual tone he’d been using throughout their conversation.
“Were you just conversing with that… animal?” Thirty-five Trills demanded, poking his sensory horns out from under the protection of the hat.
Human Friend Steve blinked slowly and tilted his head to one side as he visibly shifted his vector of thought. “No,” he replied slowly, “I was just… mimicking it, I guess?”
“Why?” Thirty-five Trills demanded. “In the course of the main branch, why? Were you determining if there were more? I know your bizarre pattern recognition had already found that one. That’s why you smiled. Why?”
Human Friend Steve gave a slow shrug and sauntered on. “Don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Just something to do, I guess.”
Thirty-five Trills ran his winghooks over his sensory horns and fought back a hiss of frustration. There was always a reason for this madness. He was increasingly glad that it wasn’t his stated job to determine them.

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Humans are Weird - Chug

12/25/2023

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Humans are Weird - Chug

Second Father kept an antenna curled towards the Sisters frolicking in the soft duff as he poured the last of the skuul gel into the carry jug. When he was satisfied that the refinement container was empty he gave a happy click and set the container down. He found the lid of the carry jug and carefully secured it. Properly considered the carry jug was far to large to be practical but this one was destined for the humans and their monstrously strong hands. He had placed it on a hover-wagon before he had filled it however and to floated after him easily enough as he waved a hand at First Sister. She finished her leap over Fourth Sister and waved back confidently before trotting over to the side to take up a more supervisory position over her playing Sisters. Second Father fought down a little pang at how quickly she was, they were all growing, and set off towards the nearest human hive.
Human First Father out in the full sun beyond the canopy, erecting fences around a fruit orchard that was particularly attractive to the local large herbivores. Second Father settled back on his hind legs and watched the process with interest from the edges of the forest. The human had most of his outer membrane covered in protective clothing to prevent cuts and tears. He also wore a fairly wide brimmed hat. All in all, it looked like Human First Father was taking the solar radiating very seriously today and would not need the membrane soothing gel. Still, Second Father supposed that the planet was tilting back towards summer and the change in radiation angle would soon mean that the human hive would have ample use for a gel that was good for soothing the heat of burns as well as healing the membrane. It made sense to get the trade completed early. Perhaps Human First Father was also being considerate of the Shatar hive’s needs as well. There would be plenty of time to refresh the pods before any more gel was needed.
As the sun reached the high point in the sky Human First Father reached the place where his wheeled vehicle was waiting, clearly a point he had marked out in advance to end the task for the day, because he tossed his tools and the extra fencing into the back of the wheeled transport and then activated the fence. The air around the tree glittered and hummed for a moment as the fence tried to cover them all, before collapsing to a more sustainable dome that covered approximately three-quarters of the trees. Human First Father considered this a moment before he leapt into the driver’s seat and started off for the road back to the main human hive.
Second Father stepped forward and gave a wide wave to catch the human’s narrow binocular vision. Human First Father turned the transport in his direction and as the human came into focus range Second Father could see that the mammal was dirty, sweaty, and grinning widely.
“Great to see you!” Human First Father boomed out as the wheeled vehicle rolled to a stop beside him. “Can you hop on in and come over for lunch?”
“I am afraid not,” Second Father said waving his hover wagon with it’s load forward. “I am here to deliver that skuul gel you requested.”
“Really?” Human First Father exclaimed, leaping out of his vehicle and coming forward to examine the jug. “I thought the pods wouldn’t be ready for another few days?”
“That was my initial calculation,” Second Father agreed. “However they matured faster than anticipated. First Aunt is investigating why.”
Human First Father causally lifted the entire forty ey transport jug with a single finger and flicked the lid open with his thumb before tipping the whole thing and delicately pouring out just a fraction of an ey of the gel into the wide fleshy center of his hand. He brought the gel sample up to his face. Drew in thee quick breaths through his nose, and ran his bifocal eyes critically over the gel.
“Nice amber color,” he remarked. “It still amazes me how pure you can get this stuff without any industrial level processes.”
“We put all our technological development into perfecting the gene line to make it easy to refine,” Second Father admitted with an amused flick of his frill.
Human First Father wiped the gel sample on his leg and reached into the cab of the transport for a much dented and battered thermo-insulating drinking container. He gave the container a testing swirl and from the sound and the way it moved it had to be about two-thirds full of some liquid. With a satisfied grunt Human First Father popped the lid off of that and poured the skuul gel into the container.
A sudden rush of unease shot through Second Father’s psudo-frill.
“What are you-” he began, only for Human First Father to throw his head back and proceeded to drink the mixture down in great swallows.
Human First Father pulled the depleted drinking container away from his mouth with what must have been a deliberately loud exhalation and his face visibly relaxed.
“That is topical!” Second Father finally managed to burst out. “That means it goes on your skin! It is not rated to be taken internally at all! Let alone in eys at a time!”
Human First Father burst out laughing and popped the lid back on the transport jug before setting it in his wheeled vehicle.
“Not to worry Second Father!” he said, taking another large drink of the gel mix. “I went through and checked the chemical profile against human physiology. This stuff,” he lifted the drinking container demonstratively, “is perfectly safe, quite tasty, a nice texture, and chills you down nice on a hot day like today.”
“I thought you needed it to sooth the radiation burns from the sunlight,” Second Father clicked out, still feeling uneasy. “Really the gel is only for topical use...”
“We’ve learned the patterns of the sun around here,” Human First Father said with a shrug. “Betty and the boys picked up the protocols First Sister taught them and there wasn’t a single bad sunburn last summer. Nope, this,” he reached out a flat hand and patted the jug, “is, every drop, destined for recreational use. That’s why I asked you to put such a low priority on it. Now, if you can’t come and eat lunch with me I have to get home to my wife before she sends Betty looking for me!”
The human leapt back into the vehicle, took one more long drink, and then started back towards his hive. Second Father stared after him in perplexed silence before returning home himself.
It was four days later when Human First Father stopped by the hive with a rueful expression on his face and a rather sickly air about him that Second Father couldn’t quite identify.
“You were right about that gel,” Human First Father announced without preamble.
“What was the toxicity?” Second Father asked with a sympathetic click.
“No toxicity!” Human First Father insisted. “It just sort of messes with something called insulin resistance? I don’t really understand it, but the gist is that there is a strict safe dose. Drink too much and you get hangry and sleepy when you don’t want to. On the plus side it might have medicinal uses.”
“Are you suggesting,” Second Father asked with what he knew was an exasperated set to his antenna, “that you are not giving up drinking the gel?”
“Not a chance,” the human said cheerfully. “All this means is that jug is going to last me longer than I expected. Portion control and whatnot.”
Second Father gave a human nod and while Human First Father continued chatting he began mentally composing a new rule-set on selling humans non-edibles. Of course First Mother would have to approve it, but it looked like Human First Father would be willing to provide plenty of evidence for the need.

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - The Wrong Broom - Audiobook Versions Animatic - Audionarration

12/22/2023

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Humans are Weird - The Wrong Broom

Humans are Weird – The Wrong Broom

Third Cousin gave a hiss-click of surprise as the canister of dry ice salt tipped over and hit the metal floor of the hangar with a noise that made his frill cling to his shoulders in pain.
“Disorder and confusion!” he cursed and then glanced around sheepishly to see if anyone had heard the profanity.
He shook out his frill that was still tingling with the pain of the noise. He was not in Grandmother’s hive anymore. He was a free ranging seeker with the blessing of both his parents and his hive. There was no reason to worry about offending the elders. Still, he settled his frill carefully, properly, back into its resting position as he surveyed the salt spill. The warning labels, clearly visible on the canister, showed that the substance wasn’t directly toxic to a Shatar but did carry mild warnings. He pulled out his datapad and summoned the specifics. Ah, mildly caustic to his outer membrane; he shouldn’t really handle a spill of this magnitude without a full body gloving, which would take some time and waste one of their precious few full body gloves. Third Cousin vibrated his mandibles as a happy thought struck him as he pulled up the warnings for the newest member of the base. As he suspected, the tougher outer membrane of the humans showed little to no reaction to the salts. He opened a comm line.
“Ranger Dodge,” Third Cousin called out brightly, “please come assist me in the main storage bay. There has been a solid state chemical spill.”
“Sure thing, Third,” Dodge replied in a cheerful tone. “I take it there is nothing more seriously needed than a broom and a dust pan?”
“Well, a simple respirator is suggested but not required,” Third Cousin said. “But the spill is only ice salt.”
Mack Dodge laughed, and the Shatar knew the safety suggestion would not be followed. “I’ll grab the broom on the way down.”
Third Cousin continued his survey of the storage bay, and by the time the tingling in his frill had finally faded, he heard the steady double tread of the human’s approaching footsteps. Third Cousin saw the human turn his head towards him as he entered but didn’t bother returning the binocular vision greeting so unnecessary to his own species but simply lifted his frill in greeting and waved towards the spill. Ranger Dodge glanced at the salt, but instead of addressing it directly, he came towards Third Cousin, holding up the mentioned broom.
“Hey, Third,” Dodge called out, “have you seen the right broom?”
Third paused in confusion but didn’t look up from his work. “Is not the one you are holding sufficient?” he asked.
“Well, it’ll do, I suppose,” Dodge admitted, but Third Cousin could see that his fleshy face was contorted in a look that suggested sullen resentment in a human. “But this isn’t the regular broom. Where did it even come from?” The human pulled at the bristles of the broom in annoyance. “It’s worn all different.”
Third Cousin finally turned his multi-faceted eyes on the human to reassure him that he had his full attention. “That broom came from another level of the base, I assume,” Third Cousin said on careful reflection. “Will it not suffice for the task at hand? Or is it less efficient for the task?”
“No,” the human admitted hesitantly. “But it still isn’t the right broom.”
Third Cousin stared in blank confusion at the human, who was returning his look expectantly. Dodge clearly wanted him to do something about the situation that the human found undesirable. The broom was the same printing as all the others on the base, and Dodge himself had clearly stated that it was adequate for the purpose. Yet he clearly was not satisfied. Still, Third Cousin was not the youngest quartermaster in the core for no reason. Solving problems, even situations that reasonable species didn’t consider problems, was his particular skill set.
“Would you like me to locate and retrieve the right broom for this level for your future use?” Third Cousin asked carefully.
Dodge’s face smoothed out into a look of pleasure and relief in much the same transformation Third Cousin had seen when a human visitor to his hatch-hive had been injured and then received medication for the pain.
“That’d be great!” Dodge replied, before abruptly turning to the task and proving the efficacy of the ‘wrong’ broom.
Third Cousin made a note to track down that particular broom and then another to check the cultural database. If this were not simply a quirk of this individual, and the Great Hive knew that survey core rangers had their individual quirks, the knowledge that humans became emotionally attached to inanimate objects would be critical information for any Shatar working in a quartermaster position.

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Humans are Weird - Staking A Claim

12/18/2023

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Humans are Weird – Staking a Claim

“-and you cannot possibly guess what we saw coming in over the last ridge,” Wing Commander Fourteenth Trill called out as the wing swept through the open window into the main base. “Oh! How thoughtful!”
There was a chorus of delighted – and mildly amused – agreement as the flight took in the preparations the humans had made for them. There was a massive cushion of velvety material set on a human sized table to capture the maximum amount of sunlight through the observation window. It was surrounded by several springy sticks set into the table. The sticks dangled local seed pods on stout twine. Several of the younger flight members landed on the seed pods grasped the twine, setting the sticks bobbing and the seed pods swinging.
“Not the worst effort I have ever seen,” grudgingly admitted a balding old wing-second as he settled onto one of the slightly raised sides of the cushion. “Bit too soft, but acceptable, don’t know about this strange fur coating it.”
“Now, now don’t be critical of such a nice effort,” the other wing-second scolded, settling down beside him. “We need to encourage interspecies friendship you know, and when you have been gone for days it is nice to come back to a deliberate welcome.”
The wing-second gave a visible snuggle down into the material of the cushion but did pick out a tuft of the strange tan fur to examine while the rest of the wing settled either onto the sticks and twin or the cushion itself. Fourteenth Trill took a moment to circle the room, half amused, half oddly disturbed. It was a thoughtful gesture on the part of the humans, who must be in the waste elimination room at the moment, but there was just something...something off about the situation.
“Is this a blood stain?” one of the flight suddenly demanded.
The entire wing lifted off the cushion with a susurration of wings and stared down at what was, obviously, after the flap, a small but distinct bloodstain on the cushion.
“Not human,” stated the medic firmly. “Not winged either. Some local mammal.”
There was a confused murmur from the flight that lasted until someone gave a frantic predator shriek and they shot for the ceiling. Fourteenth Trill felt a fierce surge of pride as the wing fell into perfect formation. Medic and injured at the center. Combat ready at the edges, mindful to keep a safe distance between them and the ceiling as well as the floor. All two wings-spread snipers with pulse rifles out and ready, but not a shot fired yet, half surveying the room for other threats, half with their weapons trained on the… the thing that had just raised its head over the edge of the table and was looking up at them with four glittering, predatory eyes.
“Eighteen Clicks!” the Wing Commander Snapped out.
“A small local predator,” Eighteen Clicks responded quickly, fluttering forward to hover just behind one of the rifle-wings. “Well documented. Too small to be a direct threat to one of us.”
“It’s a bit bigger than any of us,” the old wing-second growled.
“Look at the prey in it’s mouth,” Eighteen Clicks insisted, “it’s target prey species are less than a tenth of our mass. It poses no threat.”
An uneasy flutter went through the flight at that as they collectively resolved the mass of blood and fur under the eyes into a dead body held in thick, piercing teeth. The creature blinked at them a few times before pulling it’s horrifically long body up, and up onto the table and then prancing over to the cushion where it curled itself up into a coil of muscles, dropped the small mammal onto the cushion, lifted its rounded snout into the air, and started yelping loudly.
“They are a social species,” Eighteen Clicks informed them, ‘living in loose colonies. It is probably announcing that it has food to share but I have never heard that particular vocalization before. It-”
“Mittens!” a human voice boomed through the room, coming from the waste closet, strangely high pitched for the giant mammal. “And what did ‘ooo bring me this time?”
The door opened and the massive Chief Engineer came prancing out, hands outstretched towards the creature, that in turn gave a positive wriggle of delight on seeing the human. Engineer Evelyn, Brock to his friends, was a giant even by human standards, massing an additional forty percent over the species average, usually moved with the slow and careful deliberation of one used to being mindful of a fragile world not built for him. However today he quite danced towards the coil of murder and menace on the cushion before his binocular eyes focused on the agitated, and heavily armed flight of Winged.
“My dudes!” he called out raising his hands in an invitation to perch, or possibly a human gesture of placation, but the Wing Commander needed to perch on something. “Chill! Didn’t you get the message about Mittens?”
The wing surged forward to land on the comforting mass of the human, peeking around at the coiled predator, only the rifle-wings hanging back to secure their weapons before joining the rest.
“What about ‘Mittens’?” Fourteenth Trill demanded. “Please tell me you didn’t just … just … domesticate an apex predator while we were gone for four days. Four days Brock!”
The human laughed and shook his head, dislodging a few cartographers.
“Thank you Mittens!” the human said, stepping forward and holding out a specimen container to the creature.
It uncoiled far enough to drop the prey item into the container and then happily writhed against the touch of Brock’s fingers as the human crooned at it. The predator, so imposing on its own with a prey item between its teeth, looked small, harmless in the human’s massive hands and Fourteenth Trill felt the wing relax around him, before beginning to flutter with a flick of blatant jealousy. Brock was inquiring if the non-sapient predator like ear scritches. Fourteenth Trills was reasonably sure he wasn’t the only one thinking that he certainly would like some ear scritches.
“No I didn’t domesticate it,” Brock finally said, when apparently, the creatures prodigious appetite for ear scritches, and back scritches, and chin scritches, was satisfied and it curled up on the cushion, tucking it’s snout into a thigh leaving just a coil of fur visible. “One, it takes generations to domesticate any animal, and two Mittens decided to domesticate himself.”
“Flap around that again please,” Fourteenth Trill demanded.
“He showed up the day you guys left,” Brock said, heaving them all up with a massive shrug, as he began moving towards the sample freezer. “I still have no idea how he gets in and out, but I kept finding him nesting in my coats. So I made him a bed. He kept attacking the samples hung to air dry, so I made him those toys out of the seed pods. He kept trying to eat important stuff so I bribe him with less important food. He started bringing me these dead rodents in turn, so I’ve been saving them for the ecologist who comes through.”
Fourteenth Trill ignored the agitated chitters of the rest of the flight and fought to get his words in order. Brock opened the sample refrigeration unit and set the rodent down by a wingspread of others.
“So this creature, which you know nothing about,” he said slowly. “Breaks into our supposedly sealed habitation. Steals and destroys both our food stuffs and generals supplies, and your response was to make it a bed and feed it?”
“That about sums it up,” Brock agreed, closing the sample refrigerator and turned back to the predator on the cushion. “Now come here and let me show you why I named him mittens!”

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - Kiddie Classes - Audio Narration and Animatic

12/15/2023

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Humans are Weird - Kiddie Classes

“So, anyway,” Fifth Ranger was explaining as he gestured at the broad expanse of skin he had exposed along his abdomen, “that was the day we were doing our stop-drop-and-roll drills. By the time it was my turn to roll, I’d completely forgotten about the bottle I’d hidden, and it broke from the fall. I sure remembered the bottle fast when the glass broke. But I knew I shouldn’t have had it under there, so I didn’t cry or let the teachers know what had happened until the cuts had bled through my shirt, and the teachers saw.”
“Fascinating,” Fourth Cousin said. “You genuinely did not consider massive laceration to your dermal surface a problem?”
“Not one worth getting in trouble for,” Fifth Ranger said with a shrug. “But hey. I was just a kid. My brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. If you know what I mean.”
“I am constantly amazed by how casual you mammals are about damage to your outer membrane,” Fourth Cousin said, shaking her head as her antennae twitched.
“Our skin’s designed to take a beating,” Fifth Ranger replied. “It’s not that big of a deal. Biological differences and all that.”
“So what is a stop-drop-and-roll drill?” Fourth Cousin asked.
“Training on what to do if our clothes catch fire,” Fifth Ranger said. “It’s about how to smother the flames.”
Fourth Cousin’s antennae curled in horror, and her frill dropped to press against her neck. Fifth Ranger’s lips quirked in a sign of amusement, and he tilted his head to the side.
“Just out of curiosity,” he said, “what about that horrified you?”
“Your training,” she said slowly as her frill began to flutter in confusion, “assumes that small children will catch fire…”
“Accidents do happen,” he said with a shrug.
“Did you ever catch fire?”
“Well, no,” he replied. “But I know what to do if I did.”

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Humans are Weird - Introduction

12/11/2023

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Humans are Weird - Introduction

Shufflesleft slouched into the rest pool he shared with Touchesroundly and let gravity pull him in towards the warmth of the solar focus, comforting and soothing in the marginally cooler winter season. Just outside of the pool Waggles gave a happy wooph from his containment pool and, from the sounds of it, proceeded to tear into the food Shufflesleft had put there for him. Shufflesleft eased into the warmer water around the solar focus and let several appendages wave in an inviting manner. Touchesroundly, who had only been waiting for the invitation pushed himself up from where he had been writing and swam over.
“What has offended you Friend Shufflesleft?” Touchesroundly asked, drifting down and giving him a soothing pat on his dorsal side.
Shufflesleft took a moment to stretch to his full extent and gather his thoughts before answering.
“I am offended, aren’t I?” he asked letting his appendages wave a bit glumly.
“Was there some doubt?” Touchesroundly asked, with just a hint of amusement in the wriggling of his appendages.
“Some,” Shufflesleft admitted. “It shouldn’t be possible to be offended when a potential new friend is so very friendly.”
“Only a potential new friend?” Touchesroundly asked, perplexity raising his is appendages, “buy you said the potential new friend was friendly?”
“It is confusing,” Shufflesleft said.
Touchesroundly politely spread his appendages and braced against the floor of the pool to absorb the story.
“You know I agreed to take Waggles into the seal-snake socialization area at least every other day for Human Friend Dyson?” Shufflesleft began.
Touchesroundly flicked an appendage in confirmation.
“Well there was a new human there,” Shufflesleft went on. “He … oh what do the humans call it when they match opposite vectors with another focal species?”
“He made eye contact with?” Touchesroundly suggested when it became clear Shufflesleft was struggling in slurry.
“He made eye contact with, at least I think it was a he, the movement profile suggest that,” Shufflesleft went on. “He made eye contact with Waggles and Waggles got all excited and clearly indicated through body language that he wanted to interact with the human and the human clearly indicated that he wanted to interact with Waggles, so I was prepared when the human turned his vision focus cone on me and asked ‘Can I pet him.’ Obviously by context it was Waggles he meant. I said yes of course, and was about to begin introductions when the human completely turned his vision away from me and started talking to Waggles.”
Shufflesleft gave a sad, frustrated little writhe.
“He told Waggles what a beautiful seal-snake he was, and he rubbed his hands all over Waggles head and upper body. He went on for many minutes talking to Waggles, almost, but not quite as if Waggles was sapient and he wanted a response!”
“What did he say to you?” Touchesroundly asked into the long wash of waves that followed this.
“Nothing! Shufflesleft replied in hurt tones. “After he asked for permission to pet Waggles he did not touch, speak to, or even….make eye contact with me! Then another human called him and he darted off.”
“Perhaps he meant to speak to you after he was done speaking to Waggles but the other human prevented it,” Touchesroundly suggested with a soothing pat.
“I do not think so,” Shufflesleft said with slow consideration. “From the cadence and pattern of his voice I doubt he had any intention to redirect his attention.”
“Now Shufflesleft,” Touchesroundly said in a gently reproachful tone. “Do you really think that, despite how attractive a furry, little seal-snake is to them, a human would be so rude as to deliberately interact with the pet belonging to a sapient being without speaking to the sapient being personally?”
“It does seem unlikely,” Shufflesleft admitted. “Still, I think I will query the human psychology database about it tomorrow.”

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Humans are Weird – Fidget Spinning

12/8/2023

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Humans are Weird – Fidget Spinning

“Wing Commander!” Forty-fifth Trills burst into the medical bay at full speed and had to circle the room three times before he could reduce his speed enough to land in a mostly dignified manner.
“And what madness are the humans flitting about this time?” the wing commander asked.
He patiently waited for the young Winged to catch his breath. The excitable lad was inflating and deflating nearly fifty percent with each breath, and his fur was positively fluffed. The idle thought that the humans of the base would find it quite ‘cute’ crossed the commander’s mind as he continued tapping at his report. Forty-fifth Trills finally managed to bring his breathing under control and began hopping around the desk surface in agitation.
“You know that they warned us to not let the humans get bored?” Forty-fifth Trills demanded in the mother tongue.
The commander would have scolded him for using a language that most of the other species of the base couldn’t hear, let alone understand, but he gathered that could wait until the end of the report. Forty-fifth Trills was now quickly summarizing the various reports they had been given of how odd humans were. He seemed to be circling over the concept of boredom. He finally wound up with a summary of human viral tolerances and crouched there, gasping at the commander. The wing commander let a long half-second drag out before glancing at the youth.
“And what exactly,” the wing commander asked, “does this general madness have to do with you bursting into my office at the present moment?”
Forty-fifth Trills stared at him blankly for a moment before rapidly brushing his winghooks over his horns. “There is a possibility that one of the humans has a virus!” Forty-fifth Trills burst out.
The wing commander instantly fluffed with concern. “Has the human self-isolated?” he demanded.
“No!” Forty-fifth Trills stated. “The human insisted he was fine.”
“What makes you conclude he had a virus?” the wing commander asked as he hurriedly began to put his desk in order.
The only thing more wing-stiff than a healthy human was an ill human, but usually a direct order from a ranking officer was enough to send them to rest.
“He vomited!” Forty-fifth Trills informed him with horrified resonances in his voice but fascinated ripples in his neck fur. The wing commander immediately took to flight at that. Forty-fifth Trills took off after him. “The humans are in the lower docking bay.”
“What are they doing there?” the wing commander demanded. “Didn’t they notice that one of their own was evacuating his digestive tract?”
“I am reasonably sure that is what the rest were laughing at,” Forty-fifth Trills explained.
The wing commander hovered and rotated slowly to stare at him. “The humans were not expressing concern over their comrade?” he asked carefully.
Forty-fifth Trills chirped a confused affirmative.
“Humans usually take far more care of their flight-mates than of each other,” he said musingly.
“Yes,” Forty-fifth Trills agreed as they set off down the corridor at a more sedate pace.
They reached the docking bay in question and were greeted by an encouraging chant. The humans were circled around an open space. There were two circles marked out on the floor in tape. In roughly the center of the circles was a human holding a broom and spinning. Their head was bent over to touch the tip of the broom handles to their forehead, their feet danced around the broom, and they spun their center of mass around and around.
Forty-fifth Trills noted one particular human who was a distinctly different shade of health than the rest and pointed him out with a chirp. They flew over to the human. One was Junior Ranger Bryzinke, and they chirped for permission to land on his shoulders. He grinned at them and held out his arm. They landed and crept close to his ear to be heard over the chanting.
“Are you well, Bryzinke?” the wing commander asked.
“Pretty good,” Bryzinke said with a shrug. “I cleaned up the mess I made and drank some water. Fortunately most of them have stronger stomachs than I do.”
“What exactly happened?” the wing commander asked.
The human gave a massive snort of laughter. “What usually happens when a human spins too fast,” he said. “The inner ear objects to the brain, and the brain orders the stomach to punish the body until the spinning stops.”
The chanting suddenly reached a crescendo, and the two spinning humans dropped the brooms and staggered towards a pair of towels, each holding the clutter of a disassembled personal projectile weapon. They fell to their knees and began groping at the parts.
“What are they doing?” the wing commander asked.
“It’s a timed competition,” Bryzinke explained. “I was disqualified for chucking, but Reed there has a real chance to win this. She says she was the base champion back in her cadet days.”
Reed suddenly doubled over and clutched her head with a groan.
“‘Course, those were more than a few years ago,” Bryzinke said with a sympathetic wince.
“I would like you to report to the medical bay so I can scan the results of this game,” the wing commander finally said.
“Sure thing,” Bryzinke said with a nod. “Soon as we’re done here.”

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - Found Footage

12/3/2023

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Humans are Weird - Found Footage

Doctor Sieve was happily basking in the patch of sunbeam that the triple insulated window was casting on the floor of his office. Said floor, textured to offer the optimal friction to a range of species was neither very comfortable nor particularly uncomfortable. Once warmed by the short hours of direct sunlight in the winter climes of this world it was a satisfactory basking spot. Still, his eye was open enough to let in a slit of light as he eagerly watched for the moment when the sunbeam would reach his basking stone, imported at no small expense from his homeworld. Once that surface warmed it was the absolute grain of luxury. The trick was to not get impatient. Climbing on before it was properly warmed meant that you had a chilled belly when you expected a warmed brain. No, far better to rest on the indifferent comfort of the warm floor until the basking rock was perfect.
Doctor Sieve was just calculating that the basking rock had warmed to perfection when the ground rattled with the excited approach of the University’s chief archivist’s distinct tread. Doctor Sieve indulged in a heavy sigh and cast a longing look at the nice toasty basking stone as he arranged himself behind his workstation, the door burst open without even a perfunctory tail-slap, or even a slowing of that distinct tread. The chief archivist, only having three whole paws due to a frostbite related accident that he insisted did not merit a prosthetic to correct, had poor vector control at the best of times, in his obviously excited stated he absolutely skittered across the floor, and impacted the wall with a thump that Doctor Sieve could not fail to find amusing.
“Spout you old fool,” Doctor Sieve said, clicking his tongue fondly, “Slow down and ferment a bit before you knock a hole in a load bearing wall with that thick skull of yours.”
Archivist Spout did manage to pause and gave him a toothy grin, a habit picked up from humans that did effectively convey his excitement. He lifted his good fore-paw and his clumsiness was in part explained by the archival canister he was gripping. It gleamed with newness and was precisely marked with the labels of one of the best data reconstruction services available on the planet. Archivist Spout, never in the best of shape, was panting heavily from his run and Doctor Sieve gave him time to calm his lungs before asking any questions. However before Spout was anywhere near normal he gasped out.
“It came in! It finally came in!”
His speech was interrupted by a gurgle as various stomachs were interrupted in their work by the frantic efforts of his lungs.
“Shatar vineyard data- priority – but they – finally!” Archivist Spout grunted out as his attention switched to the canister reader next to Doctor Sieve’s work station.
The archivist scrambled over and shoved it in with a grating click that made Doctor Sieve wince and then the old duff-tail scrambled up on Doctor Sieve’s perfectly warmed basking stone and had the grist to pat it invitingly with his tail. Doctor Sieve suppressed a grumble and scrambled up beside his friend.
“Start the recording! Start the recording,” Archivist Spout gurgled.
A gear caught in Doctor Sieve’s mind as he ordered the device to play.
“These are the recently discovered personal records from Frost Death?” he asked, feeling a bit of excitement stir his own tail.
“Fresh from the data mill!” Archivist Spout confirmed, wriggling on the basking stone in delight.
“A first pressing account of the most pivotal moment between our species and the humans!” Doctor Sieve said as he snuggled into his friend’s side. “Direct documentation of what they valued and considered important during their finest hour on the galactic front.”
They fell silent as the first video resolved and watched eagerly as a mass of tumbling mammalian bodies came on screen. Excitement bleed away into confusion as distinctly non-sapient yelping and growling filtered out of the damaged audio.
“Those are the canids,” Archivist Spout said, disappointment clouding his voice, “the ones that pull the sleds in the snow.”
“They were critical to the rescue efforts on Frost Death,” Doctor Sieve reminded him with a comforting wave of his tail. “These must be the infant stage of the individuals who were assigned to the sleds during the rescue. This is good back end documentation, besides look at how much video must be in this file. The humans would not have dedicated this much storage to only recordings of infant canids.”
Many hours later Doctor Sieve bravely chewed his error. The humans had in fact devoted a singularly large amount of data storage to only recordings of the ‘puppies’ as they were called. There was almost no incident relevant information in the recordings at all. Aside from several puppies wrestling with a broom that was distinctly of his own species make the videos might have been recorded on any planet at any time. Archivist Spout was understandably disappointed but had dutifully posted the recovered data to the University open archive. It was well into the next day with Archivist Spout stalked into Doctor Sieve’s office and slammed his mass into his friend’s side with a sigh.
“Check my citation rate,” Archivist Spout spat out without preamble.
Widening an eye Doctor Sieve pulled up the relevant data and gave a happy grunt.
“My friend!” He exclaimed. “You are now the most cited academic of our day!”
“It’s the puppy videos,” Archivist Spout grumbled. “I have been cultivating relevant archives for generations without attention and now I post a cluster of videos of non-sapient mammals frolicking and everyone knows my name.”
Doctor Sieve fought back a gurgle of amusement and indicated the species of most of the citations.
“At least we now have a deeper understanding of what information the humans value,” he said, not quite keeping the gurgle out of his voice.

Author Betty Adams Books
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Humans are Weird - Empty Your Pockets

12/1/2023

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Humans are Weird - Empty Your Pockets

Fifth Sister was sorting the various bandage volumes when Forty-three Trills flew into the medical ward and landed on a shelf above her with an exaggerated sigh. As he didn’t signal for her attention, she continued slipping the tubes into their assigned slots.
It was very useful, she mused. That the liquid bandages were so versatile. Save for a few rare humans with overactive immune systems, the carbohydrate mix was an excellent source of protection for most injured membranes. She had just finished slotting the plain tubes into the storage area and had begun to arrange the nutrient additions by target species when Forty-three Trills emitted another loud sigh and flung himself chest down across the shelf so that his head was in her view, but as his binocular eyes were pointed at the comparative anatomy chart on the wall, she continued her task. When he flipped over onto his back and proceeded to emit another sigh, she closed the cabinet and turned her center of mass to face him.
“Can I help you with something, Forty-three Trills?” she asked.
He gave another sigh and flipped over, crossing his winghooks under his chin and staring at her with what she assumed was a sad expression.
“Do Shatar have built-in transport pouches?” he asked in a tone that was noticeably too high for the human staff to hear.
“In our environmental suits of course,” she replied. “However in our daily clothing we only wear a wrap to cover our reproductive core, and there is not sufficient structural integrity to support transport pouches. So, no.”
She did not inform him that most Shatar made the choice to avoid the stronger wraps for the explicit purpose of keeping the Winged and Trisk from asking for transport. Pointing out his species’ general rudeness wasn’t something to do when a patient was obviously emotionally depressed.
“You probably wouldn’t understand then,” the Winged said, rolling over onto his back with another sigh.
“Are you emotionally distressed, Forty-three Trills?” she asked. It was obvious that he was, but she had found that illustrating her own ignorance was usually the best way to get an alien talking about a sensitive subject.
“A wing’s thickness,” he admitted as he began to gloomily groom his sensory horns.
“Would you like to inform me of the reason?” Fifth Sister asked.
“I think one of the humans is angry with me,” Forty-three Trills said.
“What do you base this observation on? Has the human behaved aggressively towards you?”
“No,” the Winged went on in a sad tone, “he just blocked me.”
The Shatar was confused and covered it by flicking her dabber out to clean her eyes quickly. “He prevented you from accessing his nonemergency communications account?”
“No,” the Winged went on, “he physically blocked me.”
The Shatar strained to bring the lines together. “I do not understand.”
The Winged gave a long, drawn-out sigh that expanded him to nearly half again his size and flopped over a few times to arrange his wings.
“Over the course of the past few weeks, he has been filling his pelvic transport pouches with various small items,” the Winged explained. “It was interesting at first. Then it was awkward. Today it reached the point that I could no longer fit inside with all of the collected items. It is fairly clear that he is upset with me for something I have done to offend him.”
The Winged suddenly leapt up and began darting around the room, chittering in distress. The Shatar watched him in concern for a time, tilting her triangular head from side to side to keep him in her field of vision. Meanwhile she had her fingers busy with her datapad, pulling up one of the psychological files on humans she recalled from her training. When he had burned off enough of his distress, he fluttered back to the shelf.
“I just wish I knew what I had done to offend him,” he said with a tired little chirp. “You know how important social presence is to us Winged, and with only a wing’s worth on the base and none of us from the same flight, human transport pouches are just about the closest thing to home we have.”
“Are you quite certain that this behavior has anything to do with you or your behavior?” she asked.
“What else could it be?” the Winged demanded. “Nothing has changed on the base environment to alter his behavior.”
“Save that he has been the only human on the base for some time since the geological expedition left for the northern hemisphere,” Fifth Sister said. “Perhaps this might be a symptom of his hoarding instinct activating due to the stress of isolation. I have heard of such things.”
“Do you think?” the Winged asked, perking up immediately.
“I think it would be best if you opened a line of communication directly with him,” Fifth Sister stated firmly. “However I have heard of this process of slowly filling your pockets with the accumulation of interesting objects you find during the day.”
“It does appear to be a collection of shiny things,” Forty-three Trills observed. “It is mostly broken bolts and scraps of the reflective covers. Humans do have an odd affinity for shiny things.”
“That is common in species that depend on open water for hydration,” she affirmed. “However my literature suggests that such a manifestation of this was limited to children. If it is the same response, it seems to be inadvertent, and he might respond to a simple question.”
Forty-three Trills nodded slowly even as his kinetics became more energetic as his mood rose. “I will ask him. Thank you for the analysis, Fifth Sister.”
She flicked her frill in acknowledgment and resumed sorting the additives as the Winged left the room. She did not choose to share the information with the Winged, but reversion to childhood behaviors was often a sign of stress. She wondered if the human required the medically recommended application of snuggles and who on the base would be the best to provide them.

Author Betty Adams Books
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​Humans are Weird – Communication

Humans are Weird - Chug

Humans are Weird - The Wrong Broom

​ Humans are Weird – Staking a Claim

Humans are Weird - Kiddie Classes

Humans are Weird - Introduction

Humans are Weird – Fidget Spinning

Humans are Weird - Found Footage

Humans are Weird - Empty Your Pockets

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