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.
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.
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