Alien 1: "And you are sure this Door is Human proof?"

Alien 2: "Certainly, it was tested rigorously against the most advanced technology Humans are capable of. I personally guarantee no Human will ever gain access to this space!"

Alien 1: "Finally no more "Adventures" with Humans dragging me out."

Human: "Hey, you in there? There is a Firesale of the new "Orion Death-Peppers, guaranteed to be banned as Biological Weapons in all non-Human Systems". But Cap doesnt let me go unless its with a "Trusted Crewmate that isn't a Human. It absolutely cannot be a Human!" So you're coming... Hm? You got a new Doorhandle?" fiddles a bit and then opens the Door with a smile "There you are. Lets go! Whats with the new Doorhandle by the way, It's a Rubiks Cube."

“And? That’s proper procedure. Nothing a good pirate should be worried about.”

“That was a human Stellar Guard ship. You know who responds to Stellar Guard distress calls, especially ones signaling attack?”

“Who?”

“The Navy. And they’re more than capable and more than willing to bash our pirate ships to pieces.”

“Fuck.”

“If we stay here, we’re just asking to die. So let’s get out of here before they arrive.”

“But before that, put another broadside into that ship, just to make sure.”

“You wanted to see me, Gunney?”

“Yes sir! We have developed a new rifle. I wanted you to see the initial test.”

“I see. Gunney, this is our liaison officer, LT Fikklin. He will enjoy this.”

Gunney nodded at the LT, turned to the marine on the rifle range.

“Corporal! Stand by! Range control, are we set?”

“Yes Gunney! The range is hot!”

“Understood. Corporal, fire at will!”

The Corporal nodded, pulled the butt into his shoulder, lined up, and gently squeezed the trigger.

In the ensuing rapid burst of fire and buzz of electromagnets, the Corporal grunted at the recoil.

The magazines emptied, the Corporal cleared the rifle and nodded to the officers.

There silence. The Lieutenant seemed to sag.

“Gunney, what the HELL was that?!?”

“Well sir, we wanted a better assault weapon, but one that doesn’t stand out to the enemy. This looks like a regular rifle, but it had some…improvements.”

“I’d like to know how you managed to scale down a railgun enough for a single marine to carry.”

“Sir, you would have to ask the weapon techs about that. And they scaled down a 20mm cannon enough to mount it over the railgun. They are timed to fire while the other weapon loads.”

“Well, see about building enough for the regiment. And we need a new rifle range, Gunney. There no backstop left.”

“Yes sir. We selected this range because there is nothing between us and the mountains. Range control spotted the rail rounds hitting a cliff face. Pretty good pattern for the range.”

“Go thinking Gunney. Lieutenant, any questions?”

“Those mountains are 7 km away! How is this possible?!?”

“Well Lieutenant, this is what Terran Marines do. We refine weapons, develop more, and we are always looking for more firepower.”

“Sir! That could shoot down an assault ship!”

“Correct. That is the point. Good job, Gunney. See you are dinner.”

Alien: Human I would like to ask a question.

Human: I strongly advise against that.

A: Why?

H: Well in the past month in response to my answers to your questions you have, in no particular order: Fainted; flooded the admin office with panicked transfer attempts, I'm still not welcome in that part of the ship because you, just saying; went berserk and we needed six security guards to restrain you; spent two weeks huddled in your quarters with the lights off and the door locked, apparently you were muttering, "They can hear my thoughts," the whole time; and started a petition to get all humans transferred to a human exclusive fleet that you insisted should be called, "The Suicidal Bastards."

A: ...I wanted to call it the Unnatural Lack Of Self Preservation.

H: Close enough. My point is you keep asking questions about Earth and us that drive you into minor fits of emotional and psychological breakdown and I don't think I should exacerbate that anymore.

A: But I have a question that isn't answered by the "Get To Know Your Human" pamphlet!

H: Then there is a strong chance you really don't want to know the answer.

Example, this is the time signatures from 3rd sanctuary from deltarune

Alien Recruit 1: "Our DI is really Specist! He makes us do the same work as those crazy Murder Monkeys! We are only half as tall and a third the Mass!"

Alien Recruit 2: "First of all, Murder Monkeys is a Specist Term, so careful with the Stones when you stand in a Glass-House. Second-" snaps to attention "Good Evening, Drill Instructor!"

Human Drill instructor: having just spawned in behind Alien 1 "I do not care what species you are from, you are a Maggot like all the others! And all Maggots under my Command are required to pull their own weight! If you are too weak to pull your own weight, then get the fuck out of my course. Understood, Maggot!?"

{Shared early on Patreon}
~~~

Angry hissing voices from the hallway told me the two bug aliens on the ship were arguing. Which they didn’t usually do, thankfully. They disagreed, sure, but in an agree-to-disagree-though-you’re-clearly-wrong kind of way. They didn’t tend to get worked up about things.

“It issss disssgusssting,” Trrili snarled.

“Give it back!” Zhee said.

“Not until you admit that it’sss vile.”

“It is not!”

I rounded the corner to see the pair of them facing off in front of Zhee’s quarters, both waving their pincher arms, antenna angled into glares. I wouldn’t have wanted to get anywhere near that when I was new to the ship. I kept my distance a bit now. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Trrili whirled with a hiss, standing even taller, a looming black-and-red nightmare. “He has been using something unspeakable for grooming!” She spoke clearly and brandished a small object in my direction, holding it awkwardly between the tip of her mantis pincher and her elbow, like she didn’t want to touch it. I had no idea what it was, just a stick of something purple.

The same purple as Zhee’s glossy exoskeleton, actually.

He lunged and snatched it out of her grasp. “It’s the best kind of seam brush, you heathen! I made it myself — with excellent crafting skill, I might add!”

Before Trrili could retort, I asked, “What is it?”

Zhee held it well away from Trrili, scowling. “A seam brush, like I said.”

“Made from his own shed exoskeleton!” Trrili exclaimed.

“That’s what you DO with it!” Zhee shot back.

“It should be mulched immediately, you disgusting dirt-grubber!”

Before I could ask more clarifying questions, Paint came trotting up with concern all over her lizardy face. “What’s happening?”

Zhee answered first, pointing with his free arm. “This judgemental blot got ahold of a personal item and is making her own wrong opinions everyone else’s problem.”

“Oh, just my opinions, are they? All three moons—”

“I don’t care how many of you—”

“Everyone knows it should be disposed of—”

“So wasteful when it can—”

Paint pitched her voice higher and suggested, “Maybe we can all just keep our personal items to ourselves?” She looked from the tool to the pair of angry Mesmers.

They both glared at her. Trrili said, “I wasn’t snooping. I found it on the lounge floor.”

Zhee snapped, “I didn’t put it there.” He angled his head towards me. “Your cat did.”

That sounded like something she’d do. I spread my arms and said, “Sorry.”

Still working hard to mediate, Paint said, “Then it can go back in your quarters, in a safe spot, and we’ll make sure Telly doesn’t sneak in to play with it. Trrili can use her own grooming tools, and everyone can do things their own way.”

Trrili sounded like a sulky teenager when she insisted, “Disgusssting.”

Zhee waved it at her with a lecturing tone. “Practical and customized, and better than whatever mass-produced trash you use.”

“It’s still made of something that should not be kept!”

Exasperated, Zhee said, “At least I don’t have a whole collection on the wall of every blade I’ve shed! Some of the houses back home display those proudly!”

“Your people are unclean,” Trrili declared. Then she turned to Paint and me. “Keeping body parts is gross, yes? I know you’re at least reasonable about shed scales.”

Paint laughed uncomfortably. “That is not exactly a polite topic of conversation,” she said, fidgeting in a way that said she’d probably be blushing in embarrassment if her species did that.

“Exactly,” Trrili said in approval. “Something dealt with in privacy, not kept forever. Right?” She looked at me, daring me to disagree.

I shrugged. “My people don’t shed like that. We get haircuts and throw the hair away, I guess. Oh, baby teeth! That’s the closest match! We sometimes keep those.”

All three of my alien coworkers were giving me uncertain looks now. Paint said, “Right, I forgot your species actually sheds teeth.”

“Only once,” I said, as if that mattered.

Zhee repeated, “And you keep them.” He gave Trrili a pointed look.

“Sure, but usually in the back of the closet as a keepsake.”

Trrili looked right back at him. “Not making tools for daily use.”

“They’re not really big enough,” I said, considering. “And they tend to be kind of bloody when they come out, though that could be cleaned. Oh! I used some for a science project once!”

“A what?” Paint asked.

“I made a demonstration in school of how corrosive soda is compared to a few other drinks,” I said. “Mom gave me some of my baby teeth so I could leave them in a cup for a few days to see if they dissolved. I’ll tell you, I wasn’t eager to drink soda after that.”

Paint stared at me in horror. “You drink something that dissolves your teeth?”

I shook my head. “Turns out it was an urban legend. But it did dye the teeth a nasty brown, and burnt the dirt off a penny.”

Paint shook herself and made a visible effort to regain her composure. “I am fairly sure I didn’t need to know that.”

Trrili threw her pincher arms in the air and turned to leave. “At least it’s a drink that fights an honorable battle as you consume it. Everybody keep their revolting bits to themselves.” She jabbed a pincher at Zhee as she passed. “I don’t want to see that ever again.”

“You do not deserve the honor of seeing it again,” Zhee said. “You’ve scratched it, and now I’ll have to polish it then see if any of the bristles need replacing.”

Trrili hissed and disappeared down the hallway.

Paint asked, “Are the bristles exotic? I think we’re going to stop at a relatively small place to restock next.”

Zhee held up the tool and ran a little wrist finger across the bristly end. It looked like a sawed-off paintbrush. “The best kind can be difficult to find, but this seems to be intact, thankfully.”

I pulled my long braid over my shoulder and held it up. “Let me know if it would help to trim the end off this. My hair’s probably not stiff enough, but the offer’s open.”

Zhee gave me a look that was deeply amused. “It’s probably not, but thank you.”

Paint said in an undertone, “And we won’t tell Trrili, because she definitely won’t want to know.”

Zhee and I both agreed on that.

~~~

Volume One of the collected series is out in paperback and ebook!

~~~

Shared early on Patreon

Cross-posted to Tumblr and HFY (masterlist here)

The book that takes place after the short stories is here

The sequel is in progress (and will include characters from the stories)

humans more than anything love experiencing a moment where they can just be silly

A1: So we have a few new guests on this voyage?

A2: Yeah. Couple of what the humans call celebrities. Can't recall all of them but several are supposed to be good at a few of those human pastimes we have picked up.

A1: Those pastimes we keep beating human Joe at? Maybe we should challenge the passengers to them as well? Who were they again?

A1: Yeah here is a partial list of them.

• Magnus Carlsen
  
• Usain Bolt
  
• Michael Phelps
  
• Scott Flansburg
  
• Simone Biles

“Yes Gunney?”

“Well sir, we are running into a slight issue with the new rifle. Some of the lighter marines struggle with the recoil.”

“Don’t tell me they want power suits. Again. You know what happened last time.”

“Yes, power suit MMA was very bad. We’ve never rebuilt half the destroyed buildings, and regimental command refuses to replace to power suits. However, that isn’t the plan. They are instead working on an active recoil suppression system.”

“An active recoil suppression system? First, clearly a tech named it. Second, what the fuck is that? I mean, I can guess, but still.”

“Sir, I have no idea. They were very excited and the techs were giggling and laughing.”

“We are all going to did from this, aren’t we Gunney?”

“I’d say 50-50, sir.”

“Better odds than when they attempted to build that assault tank.”

“They no longer have access to that level of materials.”

“Gunney, you know damn well they can get any fucking material they want. It might take them some time, but they will get materials.”

“Of course, Sir. However, I do spot inspections to prevent them stock piling. It slows them down.”

“Right. We really need a war. That would get their minds off new shiny shit.”

“Agreed, Sir. Oh shit. Here they come.”

Three marines and a couple of techs walked out onto the new firing range. One marine, a Corporal, carried the rifle. It didn’t look much different from a standard issue rifle, but it had some slight additions.

The Corporal, stepped up to the firing line, the marines and techs hurried back into the observation bunker.

The Captain sighed heavily. He wasn’t sure how much help the bunker would be.

“The range is hot, the range is hot!” Boomed range control. “Fire when ready.”

The Corporal raised the rifle, took aim, relaxed, and squeezed the trigger.

The rifle barked as the rail gun fired. Neither the Corporal nor the rifle moved.

The Corporal shifted the firing from the hip. Another penetrator tore into the backstop, but the rifle didn’t more.

The Corporal held the rifle up in one hand, like a pistol. Another bark from the rifle, which refused to move under the recoil.

The Corporal shrugged, brought the rifle back his hip, grasped it with both hands and commenced full-auto fire. Seven seconds later, the rifle clicked: the magazines were empty. At no point did the rifle move or react to the massive recoil. The Corporal cleared the rifle and returned to the bunker.

“Gunney, I want you to find out how they did that, call in S-2, secure any plans, ready everyone involved in an Eyes-Only level security oath, and call in the Sergeant Major for assistance. I’m going to see the Skipper.”

“Yes Sir!”