In a realm besieged by darkness, Sir Bennet Fimbulwolf, a valiant knight, suffers the devastating loss of his family to a demonic legion. Fueled by grief and vengeance, he embarks on a quest to unite the fractured lands against the unholy threat. With unwavering courage, Bennet rallies allies from all walks of life, leading them into battle against the demonic horde. Through countless trials, his legend grows, inspiring hope in those who stand beside him.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLki9In_HhU&t=31s

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Humans are Weird – I Got It!

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-i-got-it

Base Commander Thresh gripped the textured sides of the construction pole and glared out the small opening of the storage area at the green sky beyond. The bright light of the alien sun outside made the interior of the room seem darker by contrast.
“We really should be using the heavy shifting equipment for this,” grumbled his third in command from his secondary elbow.
“Ranger Smith is sure that he can handle the mass and proportions,” Commander Thresh replied absently.
“And those thrice ground reports say that they are within human tolerances,” the other muttered in an offended tone. “I don’t care what they say. It can’t be safe to drop a tail-cutting structural support pole off a roof to let one person catch it.”
“It does seem absurd on the surface,” Commander Thresh admitted as he eased the pole forward, “but much about any alien species does.”
Noting that the end of the pole had passed the warning mark the third in command scrambled up to the window and shouted down to Ranger Smith.
“Passing the one meter mark now!”
He scrambled back and grasped the far end of the pole, using his not inconsequential weight to steady it as they moved the pole forward. Commander Thresh felt gravity pull on the far end of the pole and he gripped it more firmly.
“I see it!” the human called.
The pole shifted further out and Commander Thresh eyed the distance between the lagging end and the top of the window.
“Let it go,” he ordered.
The pole slowly lifted up and slid out of the storage loft.
“I got it! I got it!” the human shouted.
Their end of the pole slowly slid down until it suddenly halted, and then finished sliding out at an obviously controlled pace. Commander Thresh heaved and sigh and turned back to pull out the next pole. The following two hours passed in a blur of shifting poles until they had the necessary number stacked on the transport. It was with considerable relief that they switched to moving the bundles of connecting joints. Though the joints had several shapes and sizes, they had been packaged the previous year in standard sacks that, though there were nearly the same volume as Commander Thresh himself were reasonable light. His third in command was able to nip the sack lightly in his beak and give it a neck toss that landed it by his hip. There he gave it a stout kick that moved it down to the curve of his tail. A swift undulation of his thick tail sent the sack gliding to Commander Thresh’s waiting tail. The commander curled his tail around it and then shouted a warning to the human. The human shouted back and Commander Thresh sent the sack sailing out the window into the open air and, presumably, the waiting hands of the biped.
“I got it!! I got it!” the human shouted, accompanied by the rattling smack of the sack landing in his hands.
They quickly built up a nice work rhythm and were nearly done when the human’s usual two-beat shout was interrupted, and cut off, not by the rattling smack, but a much more hollow thunk followed by a clatter and a disturbing silence. Commander Thresh darted to the window and felt his third arrive beside him a moment later. They peered down into the bright light, closing their secondary eyelids to screen out the ultraviolet.
The human was sitting beside the ruptured bag on the ground, one wide, flipper like hand pressed to his forehead. A small trickle of bright red blood was already oozing out from under his fingers. He blinked a few times and then squinted up at the window with a rueful grin.
“I didn’t have it.”
Commander Thresh heaved a sigh and tried to ignore the pointed look his third was giving him.
“Call the medics,” he muttered. “I will get the first aid kit.

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Humans are Weird - Feedable, Fencable, Fecund

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-feedable-fencable-fecund-fun

“And when we determined that they had a five Sol reproductive cycle we realized that they were pretty much the perfect candidate for domestication.”
Human Friend Freddy was enthusiastically going on about the animals in the confinement space as she shifted the compressed bundles of groundcover fibers that were to serve as the animals’ feed for the projected ‘long winter’ the humans were preparing the base for.
Liftssignificantly shifted her, to be honest mostly ornamental, radiation shield and gripped the single stem of ground cover fiber so that it projected from her gripping end at the appropriate angle. She still wasn’t quite sure why the fashion was to hold the stem like that. The ‘straw hat’ made sense. It was easy to shape the fibers into disposable and compostable radiation shields , and even if it only covered about half of her length the ori gin of the fashion was easy to under stand when you saw the harsh dry and sun playing over the humans’ bodies and the humans were clearly delighted to share the fashion with their smaller and less bipedal allies. The stem however was to mimic the one humans held in their mouths when there were examining domestic livestock, and the purpose of that remained a mystery. The only fragment of an explanation she had gotten was when Human Friend Lee had laughed and made a joke about keeping away terror ghosts. However the humans were even more delighted to share this fashion than the other so she aligned the stem and sprawled herself more comfortably over the edge of the water trough.
“You sure that it’s safe for you to be in there?” Human Friend Freddy asked, interrupting her soliloquy on how perfect this new species of mammal was to glance down at Liftssignificantly in concern.
“There are no shared parasites that could possibly jump the species barrier,” Liftssignificantly said firmly for the twelfth time. “I know that this is a grievous concern for you but remember that my species is all but invulnerable to cross species parasite drift. We have to be to live in the water our entire lives.”
“Yeah,” Human Friend Freddy conceded, “you guys are basically sharks when it come right down to that.”
The the human grinned to herself. Presumably at the absurdity of a comparison between Liftssignificantly’s soft, cuddly body and the hydrodynamic nightmare of teeth and cartilage that was one of her homeworld’s sharks.
“Speaking of the danger,” the human said glancing up at one of the approaching animals.
The beast lumbered along on four legs. A quadruped, the humans called this land-form. It’s legs ended in thick pads that gave it exceptional traction on a variety of surfaces. It had a short, thick neck at one end of it’s body that was ringed around with a mane of sensory tendrils. Four directional eyes peep out of their soft mass and a lopsided mouth opened to reveal flat teeth and a long inquisitive tongue. The other end sprouted a tail and a matching cluster of sensory tendrils.
“Yes you drive the ecologists back at the university mad don’t you?” Human Friend Freddy crooned as she reached over to rub the animal at the base of it cranial sensory tendril cluster.
Liftssignificantly fought down a surge of jealousy. These animals might be prime candidates for domestication but they were still several generations from being truly domesticated. The humans needed to give it all the positive reinforcement they could until they could select for the proper neonatal behavior genes. Still, it did cut into the time their friends spent rubbing the Undulates. A bit of resentment wasn’t logical, but it was unavoidable.
“Four directional eyes and as far as any of us can tell a true and complete grazing herbivore,” Human Friend Freddy went on. “Not one observed reason in your natural history for you to need directional vision and plenty to make a more horsey eye set more logical.”
If the beast objected to her analysis of its sensory organs it didn’t show in the low, contented sounds it made as it lapped up the water over Liftssignificantly’s lagging end.
“Why are you so enthusiastic over this animal Human Friend Freddy?” Liftssignificantly finally asked.
“Because they are cool,” Human Friend Freddy said in a rather perplexed tone. “Perfect for a domesticated pack animal.”
“Yes,” Liftssignificantly agreed. “You have gone over that in depth. They are easy to feed, even over the winter months. They are easy to contain because they cannot escape fences, they produce offspring at a rate that does not overwhelm your created environments but is fast enough to ensure a viable breeding population in an acceptable timeframe.”
“Feedable, fencable, fecund,” Human Friend Freddy agreed. “So what’s your question?”
“You did not show nearly a similar interest in the lumberbacks,” Liftssignificantly pointed out.
Human Friend Freddy paused and frowned for a moment as she processed that.
“That’s true,” she said slowly.
Then her face broke out into a grin.
“It’s the spine!” She said with the light of revelation flashing over her exposed skin.
“The spine?” Liftssignificantly asked.
“The lumberbacks had a fragile spine,” Human Friend Freddy said. “You can stack literal tons in sidesaddles but nothing can sit directly on their spines, and to top that off they were slow, and they, well, lumbered.”
“Why is the defining factor the ability to place weight on the spine?” Liftssignificantly asked.
Human Friend Freddy’s face broke into a broad grin and Liftssignificantly felt a flicker of unease.
“Watch this!” the human called out and the flicker caused Liftsignificantly to stiffen in real fight.
Human Friend Freddy leapt into the pen with the half domesticated beast and then leapt onto its back with a delighted yell. There the human stayed as the beast gave a startled jump and proceeded to spin and race across the field with the human passenger yelling all the way.
Liftssignificantly pondered over the question of if this was supposed to answer her question as she reached for her comm unit.
“Base control?” she asked.
The Shatar on duty answered immediately.
“Please transfer me to the local human expert,” Liftssignificantly requested. “One of the humans just told me to ‘watch this’.”
She was transferred immediately.

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​

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-latest-challenge

Seventh Trill looked across the empty space between himself and Second Sister. He was perched in front of the massive window that formed the south wall of the commander’s office on this post. In the fading colors of the gloaming the rolling grasslands outside stretched to the perimeter fence and then beyond it to the horizon. With the office the interior lights were just starting to compensate for the fading natural light. The Shartar was standing there with her arms full of medical supplies and the pouches that hung from her utility harness bulging with sterile absorbent material. Seventh Trill slowly and deliberate placed his winghooks on either side of his snout and cycled a deep sigh of air.
“Let me get the wake in order,” Seventh Trill said in what he hoped the medic took to be a firm tone. “You are taking a quarter of the base’s medical supplies out into the middle of a field because the predator deterrent has expired?”
Second Sister curled an antenna in what he assumed was a gesture that meant something to someone who had lighted on Shatar kinesics for more than a moment. She seemed to realize the problem however.
“Yes,” she explained. “I really should be getting out there now-”
The Shatar shifted her legs as if to turn and go but Seventh Trill held up a winghook to restrain her.
“I seem to be missing critical information,” he said, straining to keep his voice calm. “I do not see any connection at all between the predicted and allowed for chemical degradation of the,” he glanced at the manifest in front of him, “pepper spray, and wasting, or rather using in a less that prescribed manner let’s say, a large mass of the base medical supplies.”
He paused and waited for the Shatar to respond. Her neck frill had stiffened and flared green with anger for a moment before shifting to the fluttering of general curiosity. Her head slowly rotated from side to side, threatening to dislodge the topmost of the medical supplies in her arms.
“What exactly,” she finally asked, “do you think I am going to do with these medical supplies?”
“I am sure as a rising thermal that I have not the faintest breeze of an idea,” he stated. “I am reasonably certain that you do not intend to retrofit them into ranged chemical predator deterrents but that is the only implication I could lift from your explanation.”
For a long moment the Shatar focused on him, letting her may faceted eyes rotate to really analyze him from every direction. Her mandibles worked quietly and he got the distinct impression that she was wondering how someone of his intelligence had managed to learn to fly, let alone rise to a command rank in a deep space field outpost. Finally she shook out her antenna and frill and glanced at the wall mounted chronometer.
“Yes,” she murmured. “That would explain how this happened. You haven’t had any experience with humans have you?”
He bristled a little in affront.
“I have not,” he said. “Though I fail too feel how that applies here.”
“The pepper spray is a human use tool,” she explained. “They developed it from an anti-herbivory chemical produced by various plants on their homeworld. The defense units that have just expired were engineered for the use of the various species but the humans still feel a proprietary interest in them.”
“That is interesting,” Seventh Trill said cautiously.
“They also have a range of culturally relevant activities that include these substances,” Second Sister went on. “In addition they have a scarcity driven distaste for waste.”
Seventh Trill truly wondered where she was going with this spiral of information. He well knew that Shatar in general tended to be very literal and direct. It was on of the aggravating things about dealing with them.
“While I have no direct evidence,” she was going on, “I have gathered from the fact that all of the expired units are missing with most of the base humans that they have gone off into the fields for a related recreational activity.”
“Ah,” a dim light began to pierce the clouds of her explanation and he nodded slowly. “They are using the expired units for target practice. Commendable initiative.”
Second Sister’s triangular head tilted to the side and one antenna curled in what might have been amusement.
“Target practice?” she repeated. “That is perhaps one of the more charitable ways of describing what I expect they have been doing, but only if you consider their faces to be the targets.”
The silence stretched between them as more and more the artificial light took over, the unnatural light began to savor of something quite unpleasant as Seventh Trill caught up to her meaning.
“What makes you think that the humans would be that-” He broke off.
There was really no polite way to say stupid in any language.
“They haven’t returned and it is meal time,” she explained. “Young healthy mammals, even tanks like the humans, do not willingly skip meals. Their metabolisms punish them quickly for such slights. Therefore something is keeping them out past the security fence.”
“What do you suspect is delaying them?” He asked.
“If I had to diagnose without direct evidence I would say collective partial blindness and needing to feel their way home as a group like a pod of Undulates,” she explained in a calm tone.
“Why wouldn’t they just call in?” Seventh Trill demanded.
“Embarrassment,” Second Sister stated calmly. “Now if you will excuse me I am having a medical grade eye solvent loaded into the drip tank on the back of my hovercraft. That and these should be enough to provide first aid when I find the fools.”
She set out a foot and pivoted her body before trotting out of the office without another backwards glance. Seventh Trill watched her go and wondered how hew as supposed to write this incident up in his report.

​

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BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-peanut-butter-and-fam

“What has you so pensive Two Trills?” Thirteenth Click asked as they darted around a particularly dense cluster of needle like leaves. “Is the laboratory nature of the forest freaking you out again as the human friends say?”
The massive forest stretched around them, monotonous in its conformity. One of the humans first extra-solar terraforming projects, this forest was one of the giant mammals proudest accomplishments. It was impressive. Even judged by the standards of the great forests of the Winged homeworld these ‘fir’ trees were massive. Their lower branches alone were massive enough to count as decent sized trees in their own right. The rough split bark offered innumerable comfortable perches. The scents that drifted from the internal fluids of the trees were heavenly. The extensive bryophytes that adorned their upper branches were delightful gardens. It was impressive, and disturbing if you didn’t strictly focus on a single tree.
Thirteenth Click understood why the trees were so evenly spaced of course. They were set out in a perfect grid, the pattern not broken, but alternated with the rounder, and near skeletal seasonal alteration trees that were supposedly necessary for optimal growth in the forest web. Somehow between the rigid, unnatural layout of the experimental forest, and the fact that the aggressive fir trees were rapidly killing their necessary companion species, and the fact that the humans considered this botanical warfare not only acceptable but natural, the entire situation just made one a little flighty. On top of all that his rather impressive nasal ridges, which flared and split attractively, were prone to getting stuck in the sap that leaked down from any injury in the tree’s outer bark. Once was quite enough times to need to comm for help because his nose was stuck to a tree.
“Not so much,” his superior answered. “I am just wondering if it is useful to warn you of your foolishness before hand.”
Thirteenth Click shot his superior a rather exasperated side eye. He was truly grateful for all the effort that Two Trills had put into his training. He had truly been a fluffy fledgling despite his University education when he had first been assigned to this research station. Two Trills’s calm confidence and quite leadership style had prevented countless unfortunate misunderstanding with their human hosts and had set Thirteenth Click on a path to build his own family tree much faster than he would have been able to do otherwise. Still, it wasn’t strictly necessary for Two Trills to remind him of the fact.
“And what foolishness am I about to display?” Thirteenth Click asked with an acidic note in his voice.
“Eating whatever the human’s are offering us,” Two Trills replied in a dry note.
The shock of that answer actually caused Thirteenth Click to miss a flap and he dropped several centimeters through the air before he corrected, shot past his superior, circled twice and finally snatched at the rough fibers of the tree’s bark. Two Trills circled back to his perch with a bemused expression on his face.
“What do you mean by that?” Thirteenth Click demanded. “Pardon my sudden updraft but that really does seem to go against every bit of training I’ve had, most notable the stuff that you gave me!”
“And what training would that be?” Two Trills asked, settling calmly down beside the agitated Thirteenth Trill.
“Humans love to feed us,” Thirteenth Click lifted one wing claw in demonstration. “It is a fundamental part of their culture to feed their friends. They are very careful about what foods they share as a lot of what they eat is toxic. As an officer in an ambassadorial role it is my duty to eat the food of whatever species is hosting us because sharing food is almost a universal goodwill ritual. Did I miss anything?
Two Trills heaved a long sigh and ran a winghook over one sensory horn, as if to express his utter non-surprise at the ignorance on display before him.
“You are missing so much,” Two Trills said in a gently patronizing tone that made Thirteenth Click positively bristled.
Yet the older Winged continued as if he hadn’t noted the reaction.
“Look down there,” Two Trills gestured with a winghook to the forest floor beneath them. “What don’t you see?”
ThirteenthClick glanced down. Sure enough the forest floor was blurry at this height to his eyes. He couldn’t see any of the duff and detritus he knew covered the soil and the intricate network of roots and symbiotes that extended as far down into the dirt as the branches extended above it.
“Duff, detritus, fungal growths?” He hazarded. “Those irritating little mammalian gliders. Maybe the pellets from the fragile deathwings.”
Two Trills flared his nostrils in confirmation.
“In short the entire ecosystem that exists below your awareness,” Two Trills said. “Now the humans have a very similar social ecosystem that is apparently below your awareness at all. You have not yet learned to keep your attention on your sensory horns well enough.”
“What did I supposedly miss?” Thirteenth Trill asked cautiously.
Two Trills was wise in the currents of the humans. It would be best not to let pride deny a lesson.
“The humans are plotting something,” Two Trills said gravely. “It is something to do with you specifically eating this food.”
“Even if what you say is true,” Thirteenth Click interjected. “Is it even possible for me to refuse eating the food? They went to a lot of effort to prepare this party for us.”
“As I said,” Two Trills admitted. “I was wondering if it was any use to warn you.”
“What makes you think they are plotting anything anyway?” Thirteenth Click asked, not that he disbelieved his superior but he hadn’t noticed anything.
“Giggling, snickering, odd glances at you that focus on your very equatorial nose frills,” Two Trills listed off.
Thirteenth Click sniffed, sending his nose frills trembling. Two Trills did have the stubby northern frills in comparison to his own. The humans would have noticed and wondered at it after all.
“It is odd that they never said anything about my frills,” Thirteenth Click said. “They are very nice after all.”
Two Trills gave him an amused and superior look before dropping from the tree and darting away. Thirteenth Click followed in thoughtful chatter. He muttered over the possibilities and potential reasons until they came in sight of the glow of the bonfire the humans had lit in one of the arranged clearings. It was dicey flying getting through the dense branches at the edge of the clearing. The Humans tended to just push through them. Then they were out in the open and the humans greeted them cheerfully. There were about two dozen humans scattered around the clearing. Thirteenth Click noted one human ornithologist had one of the tamed deathwings in her lap. She appeared to be massaging the deathwing’s talons and crooning to it that it was a good birdie. Thirteenth Click noted with relieve that it was secured to a log by strong jesses before he circled down to the table where the food was stacked.
“Now,” he called out without preamble.
If there was humiliation coming best get it over with. His fears were not soothed when he noted the majority of the humans slide their portable recording devices out of their pockets.
“Where is the culturally relevant food you were all raving about?” he demanded.
“Right here Lucky ol’ buddy?” Human Friend Guy said, pointing to several open canisters on the table.
There was a disturbing note of suppressed laughter in his voice. The vats were easily large enough to hold multiple Winged, which made them easily handleable for the humans. They contained a thick substance that gave off a not unpleasant fragrance. It was savory and earthy, and almost smelled like it was related to the fungus that the trees depended on. Thirteenth Click felt his nose frills twitch in anticipation and was only mildly disturbed by the suppressed snicker that ran through the crowd.
“How do I consume it?” he asked as Human Friend Guy handed him a proportionate container of the stuff.
He was twisting off the lid by the time the larger mammals answered him.
“Oh, there are a lot of ways,” one of the botanists said, a grin twitching at her lips. “That is its main selling point, but the easiest way it like this.”
She demonstrated by taking her spoon and dipping it into one of the jars. She scoped up a large mass of the food. Its consistency meant that a dollop twice the size of Thirteenth Click’s head clung to the spoon bowl without falling. She placed the entire mass in her mouth and used her teeth and lips to peel off about half the mass. Several other humans followed suit, all watching him intently. Thirteenth Click was really felling what Two Trills had warned him about now. These humans were just too eager to participate in this. Still, he had caught this thermal, he would ride it to the top. He took a proportionate glob of the stuff and scraped off half with his teeth.
It was as good as he had scented. It clearly was a legume with several of its symbiotic fungal species delicately laced into the paste. It had the odd taste that indicate the legumes had been roasted at some point. The texture was a bit dry though and Thirteenth Click felt his salivary glands activate to compensate. He went to swallow a bit, and realized that this was going to take a bit more time than he had thought.
The densely viscous paste was now firmly adhered to the top of his mouth where pulling it off the spoon with his teeth had pushed it. It also coated the roof of his mouth preventing his saliva from getting between it and said roof. He was going to have to remove small amounts with his tongue, bit by bit. It would be tedious, but the taste was good enough to make up for it. The humans appeared to be using the same strategy from the way their jaws were working.
That really didn’t do anything to explain why they were all watching him so intently and clearly suppressing laughter. He carefully began to work the mass down his gullet, twisting his tongue and lips this way and that to reach the stuff and each lick pushed the mass of paste into a new shape. He found himself having to tilt his head from side to side, even twisting his neck to get the proper leverage.
The humans, presumably because they had tongues that were as thick as his neck when they wanted to be, were already done and were clearly filming him and a few had even broken past what self control they had and were laughing outright. It was vexing but downdraft if he was going to let them know it. His nose frills bobbed energetically in front of his eyes as he reached particularly far forward with his tongue to get at some paste stuck behind his top teeth, obscuring his view of the snickering humans. At that the majority of their self control broke down and the clearing erupted in howls.
The deathwing gave a startled hoot and flapped up to sit on a makeshift perch its handler had erected. Thirteenth Click grimly toiled on clearing his mouth until he could speak clearly again.
“Quite delightful,” he commented, glaring around at the gasping and snickering mass of humanity.
Then, keeping eye contact with Human Friend Guy, he calmly shoved the second mouthful past his jaws as he had seen the humans do. The humans let out hoots of approval and the laughter erupted in earnest again. Thirteenth Click still had no idea why this was so funny, but by the mother tree if any of those videos went viral he was demanding a cut of the profits.

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Humans are Weird – Bloody Knuckles

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-bloody-knuckles

“The music is certainly,” First Cousin paused and considered how to describe the sounds blasting out from the speakers in the transport, “upbeat,” she finally concluded.
For several moments the only sound she got in reply was the meaty smack of Second Brother’s broad fingers against the control consul's surface.
“Nothing like some of Papi’s old salsa beats to keep the blood flowing on a cold day,” Second Brother said with a laugh as he began to alternate beating the console with what the humans called ‘snapping’ their fingers.
First Cousin tilted her head to regard the massive human speculatively. She had long ago learned to ignore the horrific sound caused by humans rubbing their finger membranes together with such violence and easily focused on what Second Brother was saying instead. She had heard from her more medical cousins that mammals did up and down regulate their blood flow quite a bit more than was healthy for a Shatar. It was one of the many physiological factors that made them such fantastic assets when it came to gardening and harvesting the bounty of this system. Still, she wondered how they could maintain any trace of mental stability if their cardiovascular system could really be manipulated by the mere rhythm of a song.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Second Brother said, glancing at her with his eyes the color of rich soil.
She pondered a moment over how something so, disturbingly alien could be so beautiful then set the thought firmly in its own row. Rather than translating her thoughts she lowered her voice and spoke in modified Mother. Second Brother tilted his head to the side and listened carefully. His nostrils flaring as if he could catch the scent of her words. She found herself thankful anew that her coworker at least comprehended Mother fluently, she couldn’t imagine articulating such thoughts in the flat, mammalian language.
“Well,” he replied slowly as he seemed to come to a conclusion about her question, “there is something about what you say. The beat, especially if it is produced with low tones, really does effect us. I know that some tribes used drums to stir up blood lust before battle, but how much was the drums and how much came from participating in the ritual I don’t know. Then again every other generation or so there seems to be a scare about how the new music is stimulating the younger generation too much. Then it turns out, once the egg-heads have harvested all the data, that no such thing is happening. Maybe it is just that guys like me get used to working faster with music, so just a Pavlovian association maybe?”
He rotated his head in a rough approximation of the Shatar gesture of uncertain conclusion and First Cousin gave a click of acceptance. Their transport gave a jolt as the wheels passed over another pothole and First Cousin pulled out her notebook to record the coordinates to report to the repair drone system. Second Brother fell silent while she did this. When she signaled she was finished the mammal heaved a massive sigh and tilted his head to indicate the sunbeams streaming down through the clouds and scattering through the surface of the glacial river.
“That’s something,” he murmured. “That’s really something, yeah?”
“It is a terrifying beauty,” First Cousin said in a somber tone. “Lifeless power scattered frozen mandibles of death. The ambient temperature alone can damage even the strongest membranes.”
Second Brother angled his eyes at her and the small muscles in his face contorted his visage into asymmetry.
“The cold ain’t so bad. We get some life out of it,” he said. “That’s why we’re here after all.”
First Cousin spread her antenna in a gesture of dismissal.
“This planet is,” she paused and mulled over her words, “a death trap, nearly sterile, entirely wild, were it not for the super nutrients harvested by the Edwardsilite andrillest we would never consider stringing even these partial gardens. I can find no beauty in such sterility.”
Second Brother glance at her speculatively.
“Do you think diamonds are pretty?” he asked suddenly.
“Diamonds,” she clicked thoughtfully, “That is carbon in a matrix correct? It looks something like ice I think. I cannot say I have ever given it much thought but I cannot say that I derive any pleasure from looking at them.”
Second Brother grunted and tilted his head in acknowledgment of her response. The transport rounded a corner and they began to approach their next harvest site. First Cousin began to reapply the spray insulation to her hands and arms. The doors opened and they stepped out onto the icy surface of the glacial river. First Cousin turned on her imager and scanned the surface below them carefully.
“No rifts in site!” Second Brother shouted from the other side of the transport. “Solid ice four meters down.”
It took First Cousin a few more moments to achieve the same result and she repeated his statements. The safety check done Second Brother activated his boots and began the altered falling motion that humans called skating. First Cousin moved out with delicate steps, feeling roundly grateful for the ice gripping toe socks Second Father had sent her in the last care package. She stepped out into the center of the abnormally smooth circle of ice and activated the inflatable raft before stepping onto it. She pulled the atmospheric reader out of her carry pack and began spinning it on it’s tether to collect super local atmospheric information before the orbital tether activated and redirected the thermal gradient. The cracking sounds of ice and the rattling of polymer ship chains came from one side.
“First tether cleared,” Second Brother called out.
“First tether cleared,” First Cousin replied absently.
Second Brother continued his circle of the harvest site announcing each of the three tethers with First Cousin responding. When he was done he announced he was activating the orbital tether. She felt the gravitational flux and watched the temperature rise on the atmospheric reader. Within moments the ice beneath her began to liquefy and the ice around the circle began to creak and groan as the energy was drained from it and transferred to the circle. The orbital tether soon caused the water to dome upwards at the center, even as its decreasing volume caused the edge of the pool to drop below the surrounding ice, revealing the polymer thermodynamic ring that fenced this little psudo-garden. Second Brother was idly gliding sideways around the ring, his hands behind his back, his eyes on the surface of the ice, presumably preforming a redundant scan of the ice’s integrity.
First Cousin noted the soft glow of the first body in the water and braced herself in her flotation device. The water suddenly surged upward as the melting effect reached the lower surface of the ice-shelf. The gentle gravitational pull of the orbital tether pulled the bodies to the top of the dome and First Cousin reached into the super cold water, held in a liquid state at just below it’s freezing state by the ring, and pulled out the body with the brightest glow. She clicked softly as she recorded it’s measurements and tossed it onto the bottom of the flotation device.
The harvest went smoothly and she found an exceptionally large specimen with an odd growth on the base. First Cousin clicked with pleasure and put it in an isolated carry container to keep it alive for potential up-breeding and to show to Second Brother. He always seemed to like gloating over the larger individuals with her. She imagined his wide grin as he prodded it with one wide finger then announced to the world in general that ‘she was a beaut’. Some of the rare behavioral moments that she could recognize as properly fatherly in the human males.
She called out when she was finished and Second Brother released the orbital tether. Slowly, gradually the manipulated gravity disengaged as the ring bled the heat energy out of the liquid water on the level of the base of the ice shelf, forming a thin layer to catch the gently falling organisms. First Cousin watched the process with her scanner for just long enough to be sure the majority of the Edwardsilite andrillest were once more properly settled in the bottom layer. Technically they could burrow through the entire thickness of the ice if they were too high when it froze, or swim back up if they dropped to far, but when working with species pre-domestication it was never good to stress them if you could prevent it.
“Population resettled,” she called out.
“Re securing tethers,” Second Brother responded.
He had completed that task and was waiting by the side of the rapidly, and evenly, freezing pool to help her from one ice surface to another. She gladly accepted the stable grip, despite the constant shifting of his feet, of his gloved hands as she had to squat down to gather up the flotation device that now doubled as a carrying satchel.
“The thermal transfer is never perfect,” she observed with a sigh.
“Close enough for government work,” he said with a grunt as he handed her up into the cab of the transport.
He swung himself in and they began to move towards the next site as First Cousin quickly peeled the insulation off of her hands and began transferring the harvest to the cooler.
“I found a particularly large specimen today!” she announced, holding out the largest individual.
To her disappointment Second Brother only glanced at it and nodded in a human gesture of polite notice.
“Big un’,” he said before turning his eyes towards the next site.
First Cousin felt her frill droop a bit, but she noted that he still had his gloves on and assumed he didn’t want to get them wetter than they were. She set the specimen down for further prodding opportunities and continued her work. She was just tossing a rather small specimen into the cooler when the wet carry case emitted a hissing noise and partly inflated. First Cousin clicked in annoyance.
“Second Brother calibrate the inflation rate again please,” she requested.
“It’ll be fine,” Second Brother said shifting his gloved hands uneasily.
First Cousin nearly dropped the specimen she was holding in shock. Second Brother had never refused a task in her memory. Still, he was a Second Brother. She put a firm note in her voice.
“It is preventing me from finishing my task and I don’t have the digital strength to calibrate it myself,” she said. “Unless you want these creatures flopping around the cab for the rest of the drive you need to recalibrate the inflation.”
“I’ll get around to it,” the human said glancing to the side in a blatant attempt to avoid her gaze. “Haven’t taken off my gloves yet.”
First Cousin realized that it was a very human, a very guilty gesture and something stirred uneasily in her memory. She didn’t remember seeing Second Brother put on his gloves before they
“Second Brother Hernandez,” she said, working to summon the voice of her First Sister, “why haven’t you taken off your gloves yet?”
Second Brother squirmed in his seat. Some brotherly reactions were universal after all.
“Promise you won’t freak out?” he asked, apparently of his reflection in the window.
“Why do you think I would?” she rejoined.
“You always freak out when this happens,” he muttered, “and it’s really no big deal for a human.”
“Second Brother,” First Cousin summoned Third Aunt’s voice now, “take off our gloves.”
Second Brother growled in protest but slowly peeled off his gloves.
“You promised you wouldn’t freak out!” Second Brother pointed out.
First Cousin stared in horror at the smears and chunks, solid chunks, of rusty red blood that covered his hands.
“It looks worse than it is,” Second Brother was saying. “The gloves smeared it around is all. The chains just took a little skin off my knuckles-”
“Get out the first aid kit,” First Cousin said in brisk Mother as she shook out her frill.
“Now that my gloves are off I’ll just calibrate,” Second Brother started reaching for the partly inflated case.
“First aid kit,” First Cousin snapped. “Now.”
She pondered pointing out that she had not in fact promised she wouldn’t freak out, but decided against it.

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Humans are Weird – Boop

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-boop

“To be fair to the beast,” Grinds said as he settled down into the conference couch, “I would have been sorely tempted to bite the human under the circumstances.”
Grandmother felt her antenna twitch in stern disapproval and was grateful, not for the first time that their lizard like allies were so poor at reading Shatar body language. This child was barely out of his father’s gardens according to his notes and a little inappropriate language was to be expected. She clicked her mandibles in what she hoped he took as a sympathetic manner.
“And what were the circumstances?” she asked as she turned on her recording device.
The reptile heaved a long drawn out sigh that turned into a discontented grumble.
“There’d been canisters of damage to the north fields,” Grinds began, rubbing behind his eyes with one hand. “We’d already lost hectares of new growth to the creatures and we really couldn’t afford it you know?”
“I do not know,” Grandmother corrected him with a gently rebuking tilt of her triangular head.
“Those’re the experimental fields,” Grinds explained. “We’re trying to breed up a mostly native domestic crop. Tweaked a lil’ for nutrient yield you know, added an off-world symbiote to the roots to up the iron production and the like. Well, it worked.”
The reptile gave a rueful grimace and his tongue flicked over his teeth.
“We got the grain to yield plenty of iron,” he said.
“That is what attracted the humans to the project?” Grandmother asked, glancing at the notes.
The lizard waved his tail in confirmation.
“Iron’s a huge problem for ‘em,” he said, “All that blood you know, and they just burn through it with all that bleeding and the like.”
Grandmother flicked an antenna in understanding.
“So the humans got involved with protecting the crop because we couldn’t really handle it ourselves without just killing a lot of the local fauna,” Grinds said. “Turns out it was these local amphibians that were doing the damage. They start out small and keep growing. We didn’t notice them at first because the pre-reprodcutive stage don’t bother the grain-fields, and then for years and years the reproductive stages aren’t big enough to do much damage, and in the standard fields a little loss doesn’t matter, but this was an important seed increase field.”
The lizard heaved a sigh and shifted his position.
“Scent this,” he went on, “these amphibians have a lot more bones than usual. They have a whole set that stick out from the lower ribs. They use ‘em to tear up the banks of the streams to make places to lay their eggs, then they have these big, round bony protuberances on either side of their snouts that they use to punch a hole in the torn up ground. That’s where they put their eggs. Always took a tole on the grain-fields by the banks of the river but it was never enough to be worth dealing with them.”
“I see that the individual in question was significantly larger than usual,” Grandmother observed.
“Yeah, they keep growing,” Grinds repeated. “This one, the humans call her Thumper, she’s probably several centuries old, maybe a millennia or more, not much that can predate ‘em when they get past a certain size.”
“We tried to relocate her ourselves,” Grinds said and his face contorted into a grimace at the memories. “That was a time of madness alright.”
“I read the reports,” Grandmother said. “It was very fortunate that there were no injuries of note.”
“We are pretty tough when it comes right down to it,” Grinds said with and amused glint in his eye, “but the fact that she couldn’t hurt us didn’t change the fact that we couldn’t move her.”
“So you called the humans,” Grandmother observed.
“So we called the humans,” Grinds admitted. “We were a little worried. She had those external bones and humans are pretty soft, but they didn’t have any trouble at all with the capture. They just made use of that massive thermal energy they have and went out in the cold of the morning when she was still torpid from the night. The have a ranged restraint device that shoots nets. So they netted her from a distance and loaded her up into the transport tank before the first sun was even up.”
“It sounds like a perfectly safe operation,” Grandmother said with confusion wrinkling her frill as she looked down at her data pad.
The torn and bloody limbs it displayed contradicted the story so far.
“It up until the humans got bored,” Grinds said with another sigh. “When humans transport anything with a snout and teeth like that they usually bind the maw with reversed adhesive strips, but the shape of her jaw wouldn’t allow for that so they just trusted to the compression container to keep her still and calm.”
“But it didn’t?” Grandmother asked.
“It did up to a point,” Grinds corrected her. “She couldn’t move her legs or tail, or even her neck really, but she was big, bigger than the compression container allowed for and her head stuck out into the cargo hold. It sill would have been fine-”
Grinds paused and shook his head.
“There weren’t enough seats in the personnel transport section for all of us,” he went on. “So one of the humans, the youngest, sat in the cargo space with her.”
“Wasn’t there room for him to maintain a safe distance?” Grandmother asked.
“Ample room,” Grinds said. “In fact he had to unsecure the harness to move into her space.”
“So this human,” Grandmother said. “A trained professional in the field of hazardous fauna removal. Broke protocol to remove his safety harness in a moving vehicle, reached out and deliberately put his hand in the strike range of a creature known to have dangerous teeth?”
“I wouldn’t even call it a strike range,” Grinds said. “She could really only open and close her mouth.”
“Then what happened?” Grandmother asked after a pause.
“The human self applied first aid and tried to hide the event from the commander,” Grinds said. “If he hadn’t mentioned that he’d accidentally let her ingest some of his blood out of concern for her safety we might not have noticed at all.”
“Typical human behavior,” Grandmother observed, letting her frill lay flat on her neck in irritation. “Did he give any explanation as to why he put his hand in that situation in the first place?”
“He said that he was just sitting there staring at her for an hour,” Grinds said, “and she just had that big, round, boopable nose. So he booped it.”
“Booped it?” Grandmother asked, tilting her head to the side in confusion.
“Haven’t you seen the boop reflex before?” Grinds asked in surprise.
“Not that I am aware of,” Grandmother said.
“It gets stimulated in humans a lot around the infants of our species but even adults seem to trigger it,” Grinds said.
He tilted his head to the side and examined her face, then slowly shook his head.
“Yes,” he said in a speculative tone. “I suppose you Shatar don’t have any nose-like protuberances to tempt them, but humans seem to have the urge to lightly tap round things, especially if they are part of a face that demonstrates neonatal proportions.”
“The boop reflex,” Granmother said with a tired sigh. “I will make a note of it.”

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Humans are Weird – Cocoon

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-cocoon

Inside the great barn in the human ungulate reproduction center on Tau Alpha the temperature was the regulation standard. Humidity was a bit higher than usual as the filters struggled to pull water out of the air faster than the exterior environment drifted in, but was within safety regulations. Outside, the temperature was marginally greater than the freezing point of pure water and the humidity had been well over one-hundred percent for days.
Disrupts The Gradient shifted uneasily in his foul tasting biomass and tried to be grateful for his situation. He had been warned of the dangers of the environment on this planet. The predators that had greedily eaten nearly a tenth of his initial biomass before he had formulated the correct chemical defense had been entirely expected and he had factored the loss into his calculation. At least he thought he had. He had never actually lost mass to predation before, at least not on any noticeable level. He had spawned on one of the old colonies, where every defense was already known and he had since traveled on the great transports with thriving healthy ecosystems that regularly merged with other thriving ecosystems. The discomfort of being eaten had been far, far, more distracting than he had anticipated.
Then the planet’s dry cycle had hit him just as the predation was worse. He supposed he should have moved into the humans’ offered refuge then, but he had been so certain that his problems would be solved as soon at the wet season came. Of course the dehydration had been solved. The rain had brought a local fungal growth that had nearly starved him out and had lowered his mental capacity to nearly unacceptable levels. If the local human hadn’t had a solid understanding of fungal growth patterns he might have been in serious trouble, but she had, and she had insisted on his moving his primary mass under the horribly sterile tasting but elevated and sheltered soil of her main barn before the rains hit really bad, as she called it.
Disrupts the Gradient pulled his mass a little closer to his center as he picked through his sopping memories of the time. He hadn’t wanted to creep under the foul tasting barn, but he had had just enough mental power left to be polite and he had moved his central mass, leaving almost half of himself in the desiccated, but sweet tasting grasslands. Then the flood had come and he had felt himself be torn to shreds. He had managed to salvage a good bit of that mass and pull it to the half under the welcome safety of the artificial high ground and the equally artificial chemical composition of the barn but he had lost a lot of mass nonethless.
The door opened, interrupting his pondering, and two young humans tramped in, carrying waterproof bags full of heavy items. There were muttering eagerly to each other and seemed to have entirely forgotten his presence as they walked over to the dry biomatter storage piles and began rearranging the, straw, he believed it was called. They created what was clearly a resting depression and spread several blankets over it. Then they positioned a light projector over and behind the place, stacked several woody fiber books beside them, tucked a thermal storage container down in the straw with several cups and then proceed to burrow down into the comfortable pile they had made.
Disrupts the Gradient suddenly found himself deeply curious for the first time in many weeks. These were young humans, full of animal life and energy. Their personal favorite activity he knew, was simply running, not for any purpose or vector goal, just going out onto the wide flatlands that surrounded their spawnpoint and forcing their motile fibers to propel them at fantastic speeds along the surface. Their second favorite activity was finding any body of water deep enough to encompass their mass and move as fast and they could through it. It was true that like all such creatures they had to pay for their energy expenditure with a diurnal rest cycle, but it was currently what the humans called noon, the peak of their activity cycle. What were two healthy young humans doing composting at high noon?
A projected entertainment began to play across the wall. At least Disrupts the Gradient assumed it was one. Animal light projections were so difficult for him to process, even before he had suffered the mass loss. However he was able to recognize the artificial voices and music coming from the speaker. The two humans seemed to be paying little attention to it, focusing more on the wood fiber and mineral spread data storage they had brought with them and occasionally reaching out to take in small amounts of the heated liquid in their thermal storage cylinders. Disrupts the Gradient grew more curious over their behavior and gave his center of mass a rustle. That didn’t seem to get their attention so he made the effort to mound up and flexed his sound producing fibers.
The humans emitted a collective squawk and thrashed around a bit before sitting up and fixing their eyes on him.
“Skreek! Disrupts the Gradient!” the older of the two exclaimed. “I forgot you were in here!”
“We’re not disturbing you are we?” the younger one asked. “We can leave if you like.”
“Not disturbing me,” Disrupts the gradient assured them. “Have questions.”
The two, siblings, he thought their relationship was called, glanced at each other and grinned. He vaguely recalled knowing more about them before the floods.
“Ask away!” The older one said.
“Why here?” Disrupts the Gradient asked.
Forming words with his damaged tendrils was painful, but the more he used them now the faster he would regain the ability.
“We’re here because it is music lesson time in there,” the younger sibling said pointing towards the main house. “I love music, now, but ten cousins learning the recorder on mass printed pipes.”
The human shuddered dramatically.
“It’s torture,” the older human said with a dramatic flourish of long hair. “We escaped out here.”
“Why not move?” Disrupts the Gradient asked.
The two frowned at him and then at each other.
“Do you mean why don’t we go live somewhere else?” one asked.
“No,” Disrupts the Gradient replied, and tightened his tendrils, “why not go out and play?”
They stared at him without making any sounds for several long drawn out moments before the older one emitted a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.
“It’s 34 degrees and pouring rain!” the older human said.
“That is the worst weather know to humanity!” the younger one added.
“The worst!” agreed the older. “There is nothing you can do when it’s that cold and wet.”
“Play in colder,” Disrupts the Gradient pointed out.
“We play in snow,” the older one said. “That’s different.”
“Play in cold water up north,” Disrupts the Gradient tried again.
“The water was cold yeah,” the younger one said, “but we had wetsuits and stuff and the air was nice and warm then.”
“Humans just don’t do thirty-four and pouring rain,” the older one said. “Too warm to freeze the water, but so cold that getting wet hurts.”
“Nope,” the younger human said, shaking a scruffy head, “nothing to do on a day like today but hole up with a good book.”
Appearing to think that this sufficient explanation the two burrowed back down into their nests and resumed composting their data. Disrupts the Gradient also relaxed his state and pondered what he had been told. It made no sense at the moment, but hopefully it would once he had regrown his mass.

​

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Humans are Weird – Cough It Up

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-cough-it-up

“It is fascinating because of the very contradictory nature,” Twistsup observed in a muffled tone. “A species that is so vulnerable to oxygen diffusion variables having such specific responses to diving is a beautiful conundrum.”
“Fascinating conundrum my lagging end,” Thrustsunder replied in an equally muffled voice. “It’s useful is what it is. I don’t care how good the absorption spectrum on our drones is we need people down there. Now if only we didn’t have to translate all of their observations from their limited bifocal range we could really began to make progress on the ecological studies.”
“Are you two comfortable?” Human Friend Karoline asked absently as she angled her shoulder to activate the door of the final airlock. “I can really stop to take this stupid suit off if you want.”
“We are fine,” Twistup assured her. “The off gassing does not distress us anymore.”
“Because the material reached the age where it stopped off gassing?” she asked, “or because you are so saturated with the chemical you no longer notice it?”
Both Undulates, each tucked under one of her arms gave an amused wriggle.
“You know very well that we are not susceptible to such weaknesses,” Thurstsunder said to her.
“How you little cuddle mops avoid the law of diminishing returns beats me,” Human Friend Karoline observed as the final airlock hissed out a warning but opened as the override kicked in.
“It is not normal for a sapient species to be able to turn off their warning systems,” Twistup replied, “at least not so quickly.”
“Works for us,” Human Friend Karoline said with a grunt as she lumbered to a halt in the brilliant lights of the main corridor, her feet sloshing in the water.
Here eyes squinted shut as she adapted to the extreme light gradient between the airlock and the main base systems.
“I see that Human Friend Craig has managed to calibrate the spectrum generator,” Twistup observed. “That should help with your sleep patterns.”
Human Friend Karoline blinked painfully up at the light sources on the ceiling and frowned.
“I’ll have to take your word for it little buddy,” she said. “All looks the same to me, but I’m an ecologist, not an engineer.”
“We could probably use a few more engineers,” Thrustsunder observed in a somber tone, drooping his appendages down to the black slurry of water on the corridor floor.
“We’re getting on,” Human Friend Karoline said, shifting him back up so he rested on her hip bone. “Craig says he should have the filters working well enough that you should be able to shuffle along in this stuff before too many weeks is up, and we can still do our research, so as long as you don’t mind being carried places the disaster might as well have not happened.”
“Being carried does not bother me in the slightest,” Twistup said. “However I would protest that the differences in our base before and after the volcanic eruption are far more significant than you seem to imply.”
“Eh,” the humans said with a shrug. “No one died, and it’s not likely to get worse before the supply ship comes and notices that we haven’t updated the satellite array in months. We’re fine.”
Twistup thought about pointing out that being trapped under miles of ocean in a base that was functioning at a fraction of it’s normal capacity was hardly ‘fine’ by any definition of the word, but he suspected that this was the human coping mechanism of denial and was reluctant to disturb it under the circumstances, and what she said was technically true. Still, the humans had been much more proportionately dismayed when the catastrophe had occurred. Somehow, they had just adapted and no longer considered being trapped in a dying base, surrounded by the crushing forces of the depths a problem worth dwelling on.
Human Friend Karoline turned and opened the door to the main living area. This section of the base was flooded as well, but the humans had placed a network of gratings over the water level the straining pumps maintained. Overhead the deep violet water of the ocean planet swirled, glittering with the volcanic particulate matter that plagued their attempts to leave or communicate. The severed surface lift drifted in the currents, now serving nicely as a directional indicator as it could no longer carry the base to the surface miles above.
“Yo little dudes, Carebear,” Human Friend Craig called out from where he was preparing himself some drink.
“Craig,” Human Friend Karoline replied absently as Twistup and Thrustunder waved. “Got their nap pods ready?”
Human Friend Craig indicated the direction of the passive thermal regulation food storage devices the humans had repurposed for the Undulates’ use.
“Red or blue?” Human Friend Karoline asked as she approached.
“Red,” Thurstunder requested.
“As long as we are up I would like to secure my datapad,” Twistup mentioned.
“Gotcha.”
Human Friend Karoline lifted the lid of the red container with her toes and dropped Thurstunder in before turning and placing Twistup on the main counter. Twister shuffled over to his cupboard and pulled out his datapad. He took a moment to make sure he had the proper data downloaded for the research he wanted to do and hummed in dissatisfaction. He was missing several critical human physiology articles he wanted. He knew they had them, but with the central computers crushed beneath a spire of volcanic rock he would have to feel around and find them by social touch. Human Friend Craig was leaning back against the counter taking short sips his drink and Twistup ambled over to the human while keeping most of his attention on making a list of documents to request. Twistup reached the human and noticing that Human Friend Craig was focused on draining the last of his drink and was rather distracted, gave him a nice solid poke in the ribs to get his attention.
“Hork!”
Human Friend Craig’s entire body suddenly arched back and then doubled forward, his hands slapping down to brace themselves on the grating. His central mass began to spasm and he released a series of utterly alien sounds that weren’t entirely unrelated to the ones the filters made when they began to overload with volcanic debris. Human Friend Craig was clearly in distress, his face flushed with the stress colors that indicated oxygen deprivation in a human, however Human Friend Karoline seemed more amused than concerned.
“You use the other tube for water idiot,” she said cheerfully watching Human Friend Craig, who was now slapping the grating with the palm of his hand, sending resounding tremors through the room.
“Is Human Friend Craig in danger?” Twistup asked?
The human in question shook his head, and the noises did seem to be decreasing in intensity.
“What caused that reaction?” Thrustunder asked.
“If I had to guess,” Human Friend Karoline said with a smile, “I’d say that when Twistup poked Craig it startled him and he inhaled when he should have been swallowing. Then the lungs rejected the fluid in favor of some nice tasty gas.”
“I am very sorry!” Twistup said with concern.
Human Friend Craig waved a hand in negation as he staggered to his feet again.
“I’m...fine…” he gasped out. “Breathing...now.”
“How is it possible,” Thrustunder demanded, “that a species with a dedicated diving response is capable of shorting out your survival systems by just attempting to absorb water in internal regulatory amounts?”
Human Friend Craig shrugged, his massive chest still pulsing with the effort to circulate enough air to calm his systems.
“Don’t know,” he said, “but as Memaw used to say when we were watching the baby-”
“A human can drown in a tea cup of water,” Human Friend Caroline interjected.
“Memaw said two tablespoons,” Human Friend Craig corrected her with a laugh. “But this reminds me. I need to check the filters. Peace out little dudes. Choke on your own spittle Carebare.”
Human Friend Karoline held up two of her digits in the symbol for victory or peace as he strode out the door.

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More exciting news! I have, under the orders of my muse, started writing the next book in the Flying Sparks Universe. I was writing an exciting deep sea scene and decided it needed more whales. Sadly however the chacters were too deep for the awesome majesty of the Sperm whale, and at the extreme depts for Barid's Beaked Whale. So just used Barid's Beaked Whale you might say...look that beaked booger up. It's almost as derpy as a mannatee even if it can dive to depths that would crush the best sub that the US Navy will admit to existing. I can't have derpy in this scene! I need majestic. So do I take advantage of the fact that marine biologists don't know for sure that Sperm whales 'can't' dive to 2000m and risk the science in my book truning 'bad' when/if that is confirmed?, do I put a derpy whale in place of a majestic whale?, or do I move the location to a lesser depth? decisions decisions....

Humans are Weird – Striking a Pose

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-striking-a-pose

The third tide of the lunch shift was at it’s peat before Shiftssubtly managed to get clearance from the Shatar medic to move about the base on his own. It was not that he minded the presence of the nurses. The Shatar Brothers were both kind and loving to an almost unusual degree. The human nurse, Damian, somehow managed to find that perfect balance between formal propriety and saccharine affection that many humans missed when faced with an injured Undulate. No, the nurses were fine, he was just delighted to be well enough to move about on his own power, even if the lingering effects of the cold damage make him clumsy and more than half deaf.
He bumped into the wall of the stream as he misjudged the current and scrambled to grab onto the portal to the cafeteria before he was swept away and had to circle the base currents again. He was dimly aware that someone nudged him gently from behind and he popped through the portal, into the confusing bustle of the cafeteria. He hesitated a moment as he listened for the voice that would be familiar but muted, like all other sounds, he finally caught the thread of Human Friend Jock’s voice and happily began to swim towards it.
Human Friend Jock was sitting at one of the recessed tables. He bare feet dangling down into the water, swinging back and forth in the idle motion that all human feet seemed to indulge in when suspended off the ground. The human was laughing at something another human had said when Shiftssubtly came up to him. Shiftssubtly did not have time to make himself known before Human Friend Jock spotted him and gave a sudden joyful sound.
“Shifts!” Human Friend Jock cried out. “Second Sister finally let you out of the medical tank?”
“She did,” Shiftssubtly confirmed.
He tried not to wince at the sound of his own voice. He had spent so many rotations mastering the subtly of a human vocal range. Now he could tell that his voice was flat and emotionless. He wouldn’t have minded so much, but even through the haze of his damaged perceptions he could see Human Friend Jock wince in sympathetic pain as the sound reminded him of the danger Shiftssubtly had been in.
“And I have used my new freedom to seek out you,” Shiftssubtly went on, deliberately guiding the conversation into a new, more productive current.
“Well here I am little buddy,” Human Friend Jock said with a wide grin and spreading his arms out to exposed his core as much as possible. “What can I do for you?”
Shiftssubtly had been told that that was a sign of trust. Apparently the human core was full of soft, squishy bits that were easily damaged and one of the primary functions of having the arms so close to the body most of the time was to prevent predatory damage. It was a touching gesture when looked at like that.
“Second Sister suggested,” Shiftssubtly hesitated as he mulled over the exact meanings of his words, “well, ordered really, that I begin increasing my physical activity in every direction in order to encourage proper tissue regrowth.”
“Right,” Human Friend Jock said with a nod that was shared in sympathy by the rest of the humans around him. “Physical therapy, a pain but necessary.”
“I researched what was suggested for my species,” Shiftssubtly went on, “and there are a wide range of physical actions that will serve the purpose. However the primary note of import was that such activities are always most effective when done in group settings. I would like you to be my therapy partner if you don’t mind.”
“I’d be honored little buddy,” Humans Friend Jock said, but there was a curious frown on his face. “But if you don’t mind me asking why not another Undulate?”
“I observed your physical exertions in the communal pools a few days ago and they looked very enjoyable,” Shiftssubtly said. “I could sense that you were enjoying yourself and the joy was very attractive. Added to that you did them for the required half-hour I would need to-”
“My what now-?” Human Friend Jock said, his face flexing in perplexity.
Suddenly his skin flushed with embarrassment and he gave a startled yelp.
“You were there?” he burst out. “I mean of course you were there-I knew that-I just forgot-”
His voice cut off suddenly and he ducked his head down over his meal. Up to this point the other humans at the table had been going about their own conversations, but at Human Friend Jock’s sudden change in behavior they began to look between him and Shiftssubtly with obvious curiosity playing over their faces. The human female he had been talking to specifically seemed to be looking at Human Friend Jock with particular interest now.
“What movements of his would you be mimicking now Shiftssubtly?” She asked with a hint of a smile playing over her face.
Shiftssubtly knew that there was some complex human social game being played in this moment but he didn’t know what it was exactly. Human Friend Jock’s reaction suggested embarrassment but not shame so Shiftssubtly obligingly settled down into the water so that it supported his appendages and proceeded to mimic the four long appendages and head of the human in the movements he had seen. A ripple of chuckles and outright laughter swelled and dipped around him in gentle waves. Human Friend Jock did not laugh the least though there was a wry tone to the sound.
“So,” the human female said with a wide grin. “Human Friend Jock was flexing in front of the mirrors for a full half an hour was he?”
“Are these movements called flexing?” Shiftssubtly asked.
Human Friend Jock gave out a low groan and dropped his head onto the table.
“Yes,” he muttered, “yes it is.”

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Exciting news! I have just found a major issue with Flying Sparks! In a novel about present day alien invasion of Earth, focused on the military culture of the USA...I did not ONCE mention the US Space Force...Why? How did I make such a glaring mistake? Well, I finished writing the manuscript in 2018...the US Space Force was formed in December of 2019. So....anyway. Time to do some edits.

Humans are Weird – Fishing - Audio Narration and AnimaticHumans are Weird – Fishing

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-fishing5668645

Quilx’tch stretched out his motile legs and arched his abdomen deliciously in the soft rays of the afternoon sun. The biting cold of this harsh world had taught him to enjoy the benefits of direct exposure to solar radiation. The light that fell into the small clearing on the banks of the river was just enough to warm him through his joints without burning through the protective chemical layer the humans had taught them to use. That last thought caused the Trisk to stir himself, and he shook out his legs lazily before standing. He ambled to the edge of the hat and peered down over the side. The human’s eyes were closed, but his primary atmospheric pumps were functioning at a rate that indicated wakefulness.
“Pardon me, Mack,” Quilx’tch said, “could you please hand up the solar protection?”
The eyelids twitched, and one massive arm groped out towards the rucksack beside them. Without opening his eyes, the human felt around in the top compartment for a moment before pulling out a bottle of the substance and handing it up to Quilx’tch. Quilx’tch accepted it and squeezed a few drops out onto his primary manipulating appendages.
“Need any help with that, Bud?” Mack asked with a yawn.
“I do not,” Quilx’tch assured him. “Unlike humans we have full access to our entire surface area.”
“Sure you do,” the human murmured.
They fell into companionable silence, and Quilx’tch arranged the bottle on the human’s hat so he could use it as a resting couch. He let his attention wander to the leg-like collection of polymer rods and the line that rose from a secure place by the human’s feet and dipped into the water before them. The flotation device bobbed slowly in the minute waves on the water’s surface.
“Mack?” Quilx’tch asked finally. The human gave a hum that Quilx’tch assumed was permission to continue. “Are there fish in this river?”
There was a subtle shifting in the hat that indicated the human had changed his facial expressions without bothering to move his head. Quilx’tch supposed it was a smug smile but didn’t bother to check.
“That’s what we’re here to find out, now isn’t it?” Mack replied.
“Did you check the biodiversity density records in the database before we embarked on this expedition?”
“Nope,” the human said with another yawn.
“Did you hear reports of fish in this area from the teams of the Gathering?” Quilx’tch pressed.
“Not a one,” Mack confessed.
“Do you have any reason at all to suppose that there are fish in this river?”
“Would you be upset if I said no, Mr. Nutritional Anthropologist?” Mack asked with the warm tones of a smile filling the air just as the sunlight did.
Quilx’tch pondered this question a moment as he drank in the sparkling water and the soft hum of insect life around them. “I do not think I would,” he confessed.

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Humans are Weird – Fishing - Audio Narration and Animatic

Humans are Weird – Tell

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-tell

The soft clicking of chitinous membranes on the screen of a data pad was the only audible sound in the room. The still soft morning light was beginning to filter through the vines that covered the east windows of Second Sister’s office. The air was rich with both the moisture favored by the Shatar and the unavoidable airborne biota that thrived in the humid environs. All told it was a comfortable morning and the primary occupant of the bottomless stone urn the vines grew out was was very content with his decision to forgo full dormancy this cold cycle.
Listens to the Winds idly considered whether or not it would be worth it to tighten up his current vocal fibers or if he should just reintegrate them into in central thought mass and grow a new set. The old set had begun to make inadvertent scratching and vibrating noises. It would take several local days for him to grow a new set, and he had never been skilled at managing more than one pair of vocal fibers. Most sapient species seemed to find the doubled vibrations that resulted from accidentally using two, poorly aligned sets of vocal fibers disturbing. The humans especially recoiled from it, calling it ‘zombie feedback’. Listens to the Winds had just decided to start reabsorbing the old vocal chords when Second Sister gave an absent click.
“May I help you Second Sister?” Listens to the Winds asked, stirring his center of mass and mounding up to peek over the edge of the urn.
“Are you able to observe the exterior of the campus?” Second Sister asked without looking up from the grant request she was writing.
“Oh yes,” Listens to the Winds replied, trying to put eager undertones into the clicks and hisses of the Shatar language.
It was rather difficult to make the old fibers snap for a proper click.
“I can quickly reroute enough photo sensitive biofilm to be able to observe anything you need me too.”
“Do you have a quantitative value for quickly?” Second Sister asked.
“Three minutes, give or take,” Listens to the Winds replied.
“Excellent,” the Shatar said.
Despite the positive connotations of the word she did not exactly look pleased. Her frill was half raised in determination, as if she was preparing herself for a hivebound conflict of some sort. Listens to the Winds wondered if one of the younger cousins was feeling her hormones stirring.
“Please observe First Horticulturist as she travels from her personal rooms to the head-house,” Second Sister ordered.
“What am I observing for?” Listens to the Winds asked.
“I want you to listen to the tread of her footsteps first of all,” Second Sister stated. “Let me know if she is stepping out freely, with confidence, or if she her step is overly controlled. Then, if it is overly controlled, tell me if she is resting her hand, that is her upper primary appendage, firmly on the small of her back, her dorsal center of mass just above her primary lower joints.”
Listens to the Winds felt a small rustle of half amusement, half affront even as he sent the signals to deploy the biofilm that would catch the growing daylight and give him a clear view of that part of the grounds. He couldn’t really resent Second Sister for being so explicit in her descriptions, he had made some rather spectacular blunders when he had first arrived, but it was hardly necessary now. Out in the quad that was ringed round by the personal quarters of the mobile sapients of the base he ordered a node to release the chemicals that would quickly warm it and sent it gently above the frost line. The upper air was cold and he could feel the tissues in the node begin to cool and slow immediately. He directed more of heating chemical to the node, concentrating it into the tip and rounded the end into an orb. He spread the photosensitive biofilm over the surface of the orb and absorbed the view of the quad.
Ellen’s door was on the far side and as Second Sister had expected Ellen came out of her quarters moments later with a steady step. A far too steady step, Listens to the Winds quickly realized as he let his pressure sensing fibers that ran under the path absorb her rhythm. She was obviously mindfully controlling every step, something humans as a rule never did unless giving social displays, o if they were injured. Listens to the Winds waited patiently until she came into the focus range of the orb and clicked in affirmation.
“She has her hand placed exactly as you described,” and then a mischievous thrill ran through his fibers, “but do you have a quantitative value for quickly?”
Second Sister didn’t even bother responding to his question with words. She simply tilted her triangular head at him and laid her frill flat to her neck. Listens to the Winds deliberately gave a chuckle and she turned her attention to her comm unit.
“First Medic?” She called. “Please intercept First Horticulturist and inspect her for back pain and functionality limitations resulting from her injury yesterday. I strongly suspect you will need to order her back to her quarters to rest. Feel free to use my authority to do so.”
Second Sister turned off the comm and resumed typing.
“How do you know that she is not just cold stiff?” Listens to the Winds asked as he pulled the node back underground.
“She has a tell,” Second Sister said. “If she were merely cold stiff her hand would have been on the side of her hip-joint. As it was in the small of her back she was actively in pain.”
Listens to the Winds clicked in confirmation of the information and mulled over it.
“Why would she come into work if she was in debilitating pain?” Listens to the Winds asked after several moments.
“She has informed me that she goes a little stir crazy if she has to sit still for too long,” Second Sister explained. “She has also mentioned that this symptom is worse in the winter.”
“Would it be beneficial if I offered social interaction?” Listens to the Winds asked.
“Possibly,” Second Sister said, “but do remember to ask her permission over the comms before you grow up through the vents this time.”
“Yes,” Listens to the Winds agreed, “humans do tend to have negative reactions to hearing you in their walls at night. It is very odd.”

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Humans are Weird - Communication - Audio Narration and Animatic

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-communication7000614

“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 - Communication - Audio Narration and Animatic

Humans are Weird – Fluffy Blanket Season

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-fluffy-blanket-season

“As you can see we are thriving despite the advancing inclement conditions,” Second Sister said, indicating the wide common room with a flick of her antenna.
Inspector Flicksoddly made a gesture of assent as he absorbed the vibrations of the room. “He was drifting forward slowly on his hovering transport and the Shatar paced along easily beside him. The weak yellow sunlight from the three suns glared in through the windows that formed the north and east walls providing at least a portion of the ultraviolet needs of the various flora and fauna that inhabited the shared space. Vines from the Shatar homeworld, according to rumor gifts from the House of the Eldest itself, climbed up the walls and down trellises that formed corridor’s around the edges of the space. Small trees, gifted from Terra stretched up towards the ceiling and the artificial sunscapes that provided what the local stars couldn’t.
“Will Expounds Inevitably on All Subjects be going dormant this year?” Flicksoddly asked.
Second Sister brushed at an eye with her proboscis and glanced at some note on her data pad.
“An interesting question,” she finally stated. “The axis tilt on this planet is more than intense enough to trigger dormancy in a Gathering, however Expounds Inevitably on All Subjects has been making plans for myth exchange with every other member of the base and I cannot imagine how that can be accomplished in the time frame if Expounds Inevitably on All Subjects goes dormant.”
Flicksoddly spread his appendages and examined the Gathering who inhabited the central portion of the common area. With the approaching cold cycle Expounds Inevitably on All Subjects had recalled the vast majority of tendril mass into this sheltered building and was now visible as a mound of apparent organic detritus that filled the better part of the center of the shared area. There were paths through the mound for the walking species and various seats had been placed under the trees and vine clusters in an obvious attempt to invite conversation. Several of the chairs has been carved, or perhaps formed out of wood, into human comfortable seats and something distinctly non-organic was draped over them. It was an interesting set up all things told, but as it all seemed perfectly conductive to long term mental stability and interspecies harmony there was nothing in it for the inspector to note.
“All does appear to be in readiness for the storms,” he observed.
Flicksoddly felt his attention diverted as the energy in the room changed palpably. From where his transport now hovered he had a good range of perspective. The flights of Winged began rustling as if preparing for flight but none of them abdicated their perches. A cluster of Undulates began to poke there appendages out of their pool and some hauled themselves out onto drying ledges. Flicksoddly gestured to the movement around them, setting his body at an inquisitive angle. Second Sister noted his question and indicated the main doorway with her antennas.
“The humans will be coming off of their main research shift soon,” she explained.
“And they are that popular?” Flicksoddly asked in an amused tone as he noted the excitement filling the communal area.
“They are when the planet is at this angle,” Second Sister confirmed.
“How are those two items connected?” Flicksoddly asked.
“Through these,” Second Sister said.
She reached over and selected one of the non-organic items that had been draped over a nearby wooden seat. Flicksoddly accepted the material, it was quite light, and ran it through his appendages with an approving hum.
“Thermal insulation,” he identified it. “Fibrous and very pleasing to the touch. These would be very useful for the coming temperature drops. Did the humans gift these to the base?”
“In a manner of speaking yes,” Second Sister replied, “but not as you are thinking. The humans use them for their own purposes.”
“I can see how they would benefit the humans tremendously,” Flicksoddly said. “They must catch and diffuse much of their biothermal energy.”
“Put that back before Human Friend Susan gets here!” A voice so high-pitched that Flicksoddly almost missed it suddenly called out accompanied by the darting movements that indicated he was being addressed by a frustrated flight of Winged.
“This is Human Friend Susan’s blanket?” Flicksoddly asked as he passed the blanket back to Second Sister, who had the height to set the fabric on the human sized seat.
“It is the one she will most likely use today,” Second Sister explained. “Come, if we want to observe without interfering we should distance ourselves. I think you will understand better then.”
They moved over to one of the thin, triangular perches designed for Shatar anatomy and Second Sister began explaining the meal cycle of the cafeteria to him. He listened with half of his appendages while waiting for the humans to enter. He didn’t have long to wait, but the normally hasty humans certainly took their time once in the communal area. For the most part they were carrying either data pads, books, a thermal-insulated drink container or some combination of those items. They stopped to chat with individuals, flights, or to make comments at the seemingly dormant mass in the middle of the floor. Most of the wandered over to the couches in front of the windows and the ones who didn’t sit paused to take long, shallow drinks of their heated beverages before cycling back towards the more shaded seats among Expounds Inevitably on all Subjects’s piles.
One human, Human Friend Susan, Flickoddly supposed, finally detached herself from a conversation about the current temperature and wandered over the seat he had been examining. She set her drink on one “armrest” her book on the other and proceed to fold herself into the curves of the seat in a very nearly undulate manner. When she had reached some mysterious state of contentment she reached for the fibrous material and spread it over her body to trap the thermal energy she was radiating. This done she wriggled back into the seat, picked up her drink in one hand and opened her book with another.
That alone was an interesting enough spectacle but the fight of Winged who had spent this time very deliberately grooming themselves in the branches above her now seem to decide that some acceptable limit had been reached and descended on her in a flutter of membranous wings. Flickoddly assumed that they requested permission to land from the fact that Human Friend Susan waved her cup holding hand in a gesture of assent but the sound was lost to him in the rustle of wings. The Winged busied themselves finding spots to curl up against the soft fibers of the fabric that was now radiating the human’s thermal energy.
“A very tempting prospect,” Flicksoddly observed.
Second Sister gave a light trill of amusement.
“I cannot say that it is quite so attractive to me,” she admitted, “but then Shatar are less dependent on mutual touch for warmth.”
“And it is the increased cold that causes this behavior despite the interior of the base itself being climate controlled?” Flicksoddly asked for confirmation.
“That is correct,” Second Sister replied. “The psychological presence of the cold outside seems to drive this behavior in most species. The humans call it fluffy blanket season, for obvious reasons,” she finished, flicking an antenna at Human Friend Susan, now all but covered in contentedly grooming Winged.

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Humans are Weird – The Wrong Broom - Animatic and Audio Narration

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-the-wrong-broom-audiobook-versions-animatic-audionarration
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 – The Wrong Broom - Animatic and Audio Narration

Humans are Weird – Give Me a Minute

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/-humans-are-weird-give-me-a-minute

The brilliant pair of suns beat down on the lapping waves that made this section of the water so dangerous for swimming. The scattered light that was almost universally attractive to the various sapient species of the galaxy was flickering from the tip of each wave. The human who had followed along emitted a sudden breath and his exposed skin flushed with deep pleasure.
“Sparkly,” the human murmured.
Given that they were separated by several meters of air Prodsfoolishly couldn’t see the human’s binocular eyes particularly well, but he could observe that the muscular shutters had irised down to mere points, and even the fleshy outer coverings were narrowed to shield the sensitive lenses with the guard hairs. All told it was a very defensive action, one that was far too similar to what Prodsfoolishly had been taught to identify as pain in the giant mammals. However he could see the broad decimeters of skin rippling with delight as the human’s stripes positively pulsed. Under the water the humans ten, adorably stubby appendages flexed and recoiled as he seemed to draw in data on the cove floor.
“Thank you again for the invite Prods,” the human finally said. “I needed to get out of the reading rooms.”
“It has been a long research session,” Prodsfoolishly agreed. “We are all feeling a little stale, but my motivations in inviting you were hardly selfless concern for your well-being.”
“Even so,” the humans said with a smile. “Thank you. Now-”
The last word, which should have heralded the beginning of a new verbally expressed thought trailed off as the now pinpoint binocular vision darted around the cover and the giant, bipedal body swayed thoughtfully. The human slowly folded over and slipped into the water that came up to his waist at this location. The human achieved a fully buoyant position and the slipped the synthetic lenses used to protect his membranous eyes from the saline differential down over his eyes.
“Upies?” the human suggested, using his hands to sign the words now that his mouth was under water and less useful.
“Please,” Prodsfoolishly accepted the offer.
There was only a very slight thermocline in this water that was shallow enough even by most Undulate standards but it was enough to begin stealing the heat from his core. He swam vigorously up to the human and carefully climbed onto the human’s back. He aligned himself along the spine to provide as much symmetry as possible and gripped the locations he had discovered, through no little trial and rather hysterical error, produced the least reaction from this human.
“I am in fact quite grateful to you,” Prodsfoolishly continued their conversation as the human swam along. “Solo exploration is prohibited and even team exploration can only be done with a fully equipped level five environmental hazard unit.”
“Fish!” the human signed with a sudden gesture.
Prodsfoolishly foolishly, who had already been noting the small herbivore on his datapad remembered to give a hum of acknowledgment. Humans, like most species, needed to be reassured of their place in the professional cuddle he supposed. He really couldn’t think of any other reason the human would call attention to something that was clearly in his line of sight. The floated along for a bit, Prodsfoolishly happily making observations of the local aquatic fauna until their ultimate goal came in sight.
The rocks of the cliff face, such a strange and terrifying formation. Dark mineral deposits such as one should only ever find deep beneath coral, stripped bare in many places by the wind and water tearing the flora away from the steep sides, disappearing into the distance and merging with the shimmering day colors of the sky. Even the human, who could probably start giving him a list of the plant species that topped the cliff was appropriately awed by the sight if the shifting patterns of fear and delight were any indication.
“Is this the indicated cavity?” Prodsfoolishly asked when the human’s initial reaction to the location had subsided somewhat.
“That’s what the map says,” the human confirmed, pulling up the projection on his arm.
The lights of his skin interfered with the display of course, foolish to project a light display on an inherently glowing surface of course, but the humans insisted that they would eventually be able to fine-tune the display to make it easier to read.
“Then I will go ahead and scout the entrance so we can be sure you oxygen reserves are sufficient,” Prodsfoolishly said.
“I’m good for two minutes easy,” the human said, “three in a pinch.”
Prodsfoolishly hummed and slipped down under the water, he dropped to the floor of the cove and scrambled along the bottom. The shelf of minerals that dipped down into the water was barely a meter thick. The human’s fast swimming method shouldn’t require three seconds to get under it and to the cavern on the other side, just as the survey results had reported. Still, Prodsfoolishly swam up through the thin water and thrust an appendage rich with atmosphere cells past the surface tension to check the quality of the air. The oxygen was plentiful and he dropped back down to wave the human in. His friend dipped down and instead of swimming simply grabbed a mineral protrusion and then thrust off the floor of the cove with his powerful legs. This move shot him forward in a curve that sent waves bursting out around him when he breached the surface.
“The unusual nests are found behind you,” Prodsfoolishly instructed. “Just reach up and-”
The human turned with an odd distress pattern flashing across his skin and slammed his head into the rock wall. The human emitted a rather profane curse and staggered back, crouching in the water and clutching his head. It took Prodsfoolishly several seconds to even realize that the vector the human’s head had struck the wall at was dangerous. It was several more seconds before he recognized the chemical trails drifting on the moist air to be the iron rich human blood. Meanwhile the human was softly chanting the profanity.
“You are injured!” Prodsfoolishly called out frantically.
“You don’t say!” the human bit out. “What cued you in?”
Prodsfoolishly couldn’t really believe that his friend thought he was successfully concealing the injury and assumed that to be sarcasm.
“Do you require medical attention?” Prodsfoolishly asked.
“Probably,” the human admitted. “But I want to try and stop the bleeding here before I swim anywhere with this cut on my head. You time it and let me know when five minutes is up. Then I’ll swim out if the bleeding has stopped.”
“If it hasn’t stopped I can apply pressure while you use your hands to swim,” Prodsfoolishly offered. “We can’t throw but we are very good at compressive strength.”
“I might take you up on that offer,” the human said as the pain light danced out from the injury.
“Why did you slam your neural center into the wall?” Prodsfoolishly asked.
“Well I didn’t mean to,” the human said. “I was just blind for a moment there.”
“Your eyes had stopped functioning?” Prodsfoolishly asked.
“Not, not exactly,” the human said, his face contorting with pain. “It was just coming in from the noon sun into here, there wasn’t enough light.”
“The sensors read more than sufficient lumins,” Prodsfoolishly said.
“Sure there will be,” the human agreed, “or would have been once my eyes adjusted.”
“Adjusted?” Prodsfoolishly asked.
“To the lack of light,” the human replied.
“I see,” Prodsfoolishly said uneasily.
It did make a kind of sense. He had seen the human’s pupils contracted to points outside. There could he supposed be a time of adjustment, a matter of moments when the human was blind in an otherwise lighted environment, but it just seemed so odd, such a random limitation of sensory data, he wondered if their other senses could be temporarily overwhelmed like that.
“Hey, keep talking buddy,” the human called out. “If I start wobbling mentally from a concussion you really need to know stat.”
Prodsfoolishly suddenly felt the chill weight of responsibility drag down his appendages at the thought of being responsible for his friend’s safety and sent a prayer out on the waves that the mamma’s internal fluids stayed there and his neural network was unjosteled.

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Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-kiddie-classes-audio-narration-and-animatic

“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 – Fidget Spinning - Animatic

Humans are Weird – Made of Meat

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-made-of-meat“This is such a giddy experience!” Quilx’tch said as he darted around the side of the towering vat of super-heated fluid.The massive cylinder was rated to produce pressures and temperatures most often associated with gas giant planets and the base security officer had nearly had a moral breakdown when the board of directors had affirmed its use as a common cooking device on the base. The young Shatar male had had to be sent home to his mother with a case of nervous twitching that left the base medic deeply puzzled.Personally Quilx’tch didn’t see what the fuss was all about. Yes, the machine did pose the very tiny possibility of exploding with the force of a low grade excavation charge, but the device was safety certified by the mechanical engineers on dozens of different planets. It was a bit disconcerting to think that the environmental pressures on the human homeworld were such that the need to exterminate all micro-organisms completely outweighed the threat of an exploding kitchen appliance. Quilx’tch secured the drip-cloak over his head again, fretting a little at the decreased visibility it left him with.“There is so much to see!” he exclaimed as he walked out to the edge of the table his friend had set up.The human, broad and powerful even by human standards gave a companionable laugh at that but didn’t turn his binocular vision away from the pressure readout on the device. His drip-cloak only selectively covered the greater area of his front and was completely opaque. He had opted for clear safety glasses and thermal resistant gloves for his hands but left the larger part of his arms and face bare. It was either a bold move, disregarding his personal safety, or a completely confident statement of faith in the manufacture and upkeep of the highly pressurized appliance they were using.Quilx’tch took this moment of relative calm to cast his gaze around the rest of the festival grounds. This early in the diurnal cycle the majority of the booths were still being set up. There was a group of Shatar clustered around the powerful body of an older female sorting out various congealed fruit pods. Quilx’tch tapped out a quick note to purchase a selection of the smaller pods, clearly marked for Shatar hatchlings. They did look delectable.A mid-sized human strolled past the cluster of Grandchildren and Quilx’tch enjoyed the sudden shift in perspective as the Shatar, so much larger than himself, suddenly appeared small and fragile. Even the age roughened Grandmother with her shoulders thickened from years of work seemed delicate as the human strolled by carrying a massive polystructure support pipe on her shoulder.“Perspective is a funny thing,” Quilx’tch quoted softly as he watched the younger Shatar flap their frills in astonishment.“Here come my first customers!” the human said suddenly. “They messaged ahead for their order. We need about fifteen slices of toast.”Quilx’tch darted over to the solar oven and began placing the slices of bread on the toasting surface. The device worked quite quickly and he was already turning over the first toasted side by the time the laughing group of humans arrived and exchanged greetings with the booth. Quilx’tch’s human friend opened the pressure device with a flourish that sent giant clouds of heated steam drifting up to the top of the booth and out into the general atmosphere.“There you go!” the human called out as he carefully began scooping bright orange orbs from the interior of the device. “Fresh from the fifteenth century in England!”“I doubt that they used a pressure cooker in the fourteen hundreds!” one of the group laughed.The chatter continued as Quilx’tch wished that he could listen. The concept of valuing the antiquity and history of the recipe was a fairly easy to understand paradigm. Anything that survived that many generations of the natural change of life in a recognizable form was bound to have some value. However from what he could gather the humans were talking about two distinct eras separated by at least twenty reproductive generations as if they were the same. It was curious, but he could not divert attention away from finishing the presentation of the toast that was to be the base of the meal.His human friend was using his body position and joint vectors to broadcast that he was now applying the art of food preparation rather than the science as he garnished the orange orbs with a green topper of sugar make to look like a leaf. The group of humans applauded in appreciation and Quilx’tch quickly rolled his trolley piled high with toast over to the front of the stall.One of the humans gasped and one crooned.“He’s wearing itty-bitty oven mitt on his itty-bitty paws!” one human exclaimed.Another human drive his elbow into the ribs of the human who had spoken with enough force to eject air from the human’s lungs. Quilx’tch wondered what about the legally required protective gear the human found cute but was too busy arranging the toast to really ponder it. Oddly he could see the enthusiasm draining from the human’s faces as they considered the offering.“Tiny oranges on toast?” one human finally demanded. “You said he was selling meat!”“These are meat!” Quilx’tch’s friend declared.Quilx’tch could hear the amusement in his voice and one of the purchase group was very noticeably smirking. Clearly they were engaged in that favorite human pastime, pulling one over on one’s friends. With a flourish Quilx’tch’s human friend reached out with a small knife and slit the orange orbs open, revealing the pink, pasty interior.“It’s meat!” one human exclaimed.“Weird!” and whispered as he leaned forward to peer at the false orange.Quilx’tch rather agreed with the assessment, that is why he was here to gather data on this rare and odd human delicacy. Barring any lethal explosions he hopped to have a very interesting paper published about fruit made of meat in the next journal entry.

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Humans are Weird – Fidget Spinning - Animatic

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-fidget-spinning4112452

“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.”
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Humans are Weird – Fidget Spinning - Animatic

Humans are Weird – Competitive Gliding

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-competitive-gliding
“I must admit,” Thirty-four Trills said as he shuffled the stack of datapads that he held in his wingfolds, “being stationed on a base with humans has certainly expanded and condensed my understanding of the Ranger Corps safety regulations.”
“One either flies or falls in this sort of situation,” the base commander agreed as he held out a winghook for the next datapad.
“Have you found any regulation yet that even begins to cover the situation?” Thrity-four Trills asked.
“Yes,” the commander said with a tired sigh. “The vast majority of the regulations about disrupting flight space do cover this situation to some degree.”
“But?” Thirty-four Trills asked as he began to sort through some sub-files on interspecies insults.
“They are all meant to cover serious violations,” the commander said as he shifted his datapads around in tired confusion. “There is nothing that is really applicable to a wing of junior rangers blowing off steam in a method that is so ultimately harmless.”
“I wouldn’t call casing great masses of half directed chaff into the main personal flight path exactly harmless,” Thirty-four Trills pointed out.
“Tell me,” the commander said with a sigh as he reached up to rub his sensory horns, “is there a single hair’s weight of malice or aforethought in the humans’ actions.”
“To be right on the wind’s edge,” Thirty-four Trills said with a dry rasp, “I highly doubt that there is any thought involved at all.”
The commander gave a dry chuckle and shoved the datapads away from him.
“This really is my fault,” he said as he walked over to the window and looked out at the soft green floor of the quad.
The majority of the human component of the training base were scattered across the ground cover wearing the minimum amount of clothing that their culture allowed. They had dragged out the massive recycling bin to the middle of the quad and a few were vigorously sorting though the waste in search of paper of a particular density. This they then handed out to other humans who sorted it and carried it to where a line of contestants huddled over the starting line of an improvised flight test range. These humans were busily folding the paper into glide surfaces which were then hurled down the range with powerful thrusts of their thick forelimbs. Some humans went so far as to engage their entire bodies as propulsion levers. The improvised gliders flew, fell, and swerved drunkenly down the test range where they were then judged by a row of humans with recording devices.
That situation in of itself wouldn’t have been so bad. The improvised test range was a reasonably restricted area of the quad. However the rest of the humans appeared to be engaged in a purely disorganized effort of creativity that was filling the entire airspace with folded paper contraptions that slewed, glided, and dropped, making the space a flight hazard more nearly akin to a storm wind in the treetops than anything else.
“Were you able to gain any insight into what initiated this?” the commander finally asked.
“Not a chirp,” Thirty-four Trills said with a sigh. “The humans all seemed satisfied with the entertainment provided on the base. We were making sure to assign each human the suggested amount of vigorous outdoor walking tasks. None of them has mentioned this activity in public at least that we could record.”
“How did this start again?” the commander asked, waving a winghook at the chaos outside the window.
The both flinched as a heavier bodied craft slammed into the window. This one seemed to have some sort of polymer band attached to a primitive propeller surface.
“Dear mothertree,” Thirty-four Trills muttered in horror, “They are adding extended propulsion to them now.”
The commander gave an irritated chirp and Thirty-four Trills flapped his attention back to the superior officer.
“Specialist Schmidt,” he said quickly. “He was sweeping out the bay where the recycling bin is kept. There was a fragment of paper on the floor too big for the broom to handle so he bent over to pick it up manually. He seemed to pause and consider it for a moment, then, instead of putting it in the smaller recycling bin he folded it into a glide surface and attempted to glide it into the open top of the bin. He missed the toss repeatedly and was observed by Specialist Psmith who suggested a modification to the glide surface. That mod didn’t work so they began to trouble shoot other designs.”
“And at no point did it occur to them to just place the paper in the smaller bin?” the commander asked.
“Apparently not,” Thirty-four Trills replied. “Eventually other humans observed them and attempted to help. This required more paper which they procured from the main recycling bin, and well,” Thirty-four Trills gestured to the window with a winghook, “as you can see it is a very fair day out and a general rest day.”
“They took it outside,” the commander finished as a bright yellow glider drifted past the window.
“They took it outside,” Thirty-four Trills confirmed.
“If we can’t find a regulation by sundown I will write one myself,” the commander said as he bent back to the task at hook.

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Humans are Weird - Empty Your Pockets - Animatic

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-empty-your-pockets7232075

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.
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Humans are Weird - Empty Your Pockets - Animatic

Humans are Weird – Crumpled Paper

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-crumpled-paper
“I think the human might be more amenable to sharing his artwork with you if you approached him even marginally less like an ambush predator about the subject,” Second Sister observed in the general direction of Professor Nine Trills’s hunched back.
The Trisk gave a hist of frustration and shook out his shoulders. He had begun life as a rather pale amber and the advancing years had added quite a bit of white to his fur. His sensory horn had begun to shrink and wrinkle a bit but his eyes still sparkled with health and interest. He shifted his carry pack between his wings and with only a little obvious effort he sprung into the air and flew over to where Second Sister was sorting through the first recycling bin in search of something useful wast water absorbency.
“If you see anything that was obviously crumpled by human hands could you toss it into the consideration basket for me?” Professor Nine Trills asked.
Second Sister took a moment to adjust the protective gloves on her hands as she tilted her triangular head to look down at the professor of art history.
“Would I be aiding you in violating the privacy of a colleague if I did? She asked as her frill pressed tightly to her neck.
“No!” Professor Nine Trills insisted, and then a moment later with less confidence in his tone, “no.”
“You have repeated tried to get a view of that particular artist’s work,” Second Sister observed as she turned the majority of her attention back to her task.
She found a nicely shaped scrap of absorbent paper that would just cover the underside of the starts tray and placed it in her basket.
“The artist has refused. I do not see why you persist in your attempts,” she observed.
“The artist has not refused to let me see his work!” Professor Nine Trills snapped. “Not directly in any case. In fact when I mention that I had done just this and observed one of his discarded works he did not censure me. That one down there!” Professor Nine Trills exclaimed, eagerly pointing a wing claw at a ball of crumpled drawing paper.
Second Sister resisted the urge to flap her frill at him and reached down to pick up the paper. The Winged immediately began smoothing it out while clicking happily to himself.
“Yes,” he said. “A very nice example of their focus on muscle-structure as observed through the membrane, and a few practice attempts at shading cylinders. There’s another, do grab it for me.”
Second sister weeded out about half a dozen of the rejected drawings and handed them over to the Professor. She glanced down at the first drawing. It was clearly a highly accurate rendering of a human hand in the graphite medium that most traditional human artists preferred. According to her sisters who had taken a more optical medical track humans saw the medium as a slightly reflective gray while she saw it as a fine, chaotic rainbow haze. However the density of the application meant that the anatomy was still clear to her. She clicked her mandibles in surprise.
“I cannot detect any error in this representation of a human hand,” she observed.
The Professor glanced at it absently twitched a wing in agreement.
“You said that he discards these because he is frustrated with his failure,” she continued. “How is this a failure.”
The small Professor expanded with a sigh and began to roll the papers up.
“This is not an attempt to manifest an illustration for an anatomy textbook,” he said. “This is Art.”
Second Sister wasn’t quite sure how she knew that he considered it a proper noun but somehow she heard it in his voice.
“This work of art has failed to meet the expectation of it that he had so he considers it a failure,” Professor Nine Trills finished.
“Even so,” Second Sister replied. “It is inconvenient for you to have to retrieve these from the recycle bin. The human is reported to be a very cooperative and engaging personality. He knows that you want these sketches for academic purposes. Why does he risk their destruction by crumpling them and tossing them away?”
“I don’t know,” the Professor said with a huff. “When I asked at the relevant time he would only snarl that it wasn’t good enough. One of the other humans observed that he had a perfectionist streak, and no I do not know what that means.”
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Humans are Weird - Audiobook Trailer - Due Date Animatic

Humans are Weird – Due Date (Animatic)

Original Blog Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-due-date8431266

“Can’t tonight, Trills,” Susan said as she swept a handful of protein bars into one of her overly large pockets. “I got a deadline.”

Ten-Trills ran a quick hook over his sensory horns to hide his offense. She had given him an open invitation to use her pockets for midday nesting, and then she kept them in such disorder. It was very confusing.

“I am sorry to hear that,” Ten-Trills informed her when he had his fur smoothed. “Did the central coordinators send you another emergency packet?”

“Nah,” Susan said as she selected a rather worrying number of stimulants from those displayed on the counter. “It’s just that report on the protein yields on that hybrid from Tau Gamma Seven.”

“Were you not assigned that report six months ago?” Ten-Trills asked.

“Yeah,” Susan said as she tossed a final muffin into her pockets, “but it’s not done till tonight at midnight.”

“How much do you have left to do?”

“Enough to keep me busy till midnight,” Susan said as she strode out of the room. “See you tomorrow, Trills.”

Ten-Trills watched her go as he mulled over the many recreational hours they had spent together at Susan’s behest. Hopefully there would not be too many crumbs in her pockets when she (hopefully) finished her report.

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Humans are Weird – Bullwhip

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-bullwhip
The fact that there were two wing’s-worth of messages waiting for him in his message que when the silverwing finally reentered the range of the broadcast antenna was hardly surprising Five-Trills mused as he ran a winghook tiredly over his sensory horns. Their exploratory flight had been out for nearly a local day past their stated return time and on a planet that was only barely rated as safe, and that only with the obliging presence of the humans to offer advice and protection, the idea that they had all been messily devoured by some random plant was a worryingly likely suspicion. The fact that they had been sent to investigate some, “cool” carnivorousness plants by on the humans’ suggestion made it more so. However the humans had said that the plants seemed harmless for even a creature of the Wingeds’ size and despite the little incident with the mother-plant it had turned out to be so, for the most part.
Five-Trills shifted his talons uneasily in the soothing wraps the medic had somehow fabricated from their field supplies. Being trapped in a non-sentient, let alone non-sapient living organism that was trying to eat you in the slowest possible way imaginable while countless insects died around you was a rather unpleasant way to spend the greater part of a day, but he had eventually managed to claw his way up the slippery sides of the plants digestive chamber and had even managed to dry off his wings and fly back to the Silverwing under his own power. The poor fool who had, successfully, tried to eat his way out through the side had needed to be lifted aboard and was now quietly retching into the waste disposal unit. Though he had admitted that the inner flesh of the plant was pretty tasty.
“Nearly home,” Eight Clicks said from where he was slumped in the copilot’s hammock.
Five-Trills gave a grunt of affirmation.
“To bad Human Friend Esteban couldn’t have come with us,” Eight Click went on, his voice reanimating as they neared their destination. He had been nearly comatose with exasperation by the time he and climbed back into the Silverwing, “He could have rescued us all in a flight of wing-beats, and prevented any damage to the plants as well.”
“He is a little hard to fit in the Silverwing,” Five-Trills pointed out in a dry tone.
“Still,” Eight Clicks went on as he made another attempt to groom the bare patches where his back fur used to be, “I just feel safer with a human around you know.”
The sentence ended abruptly as the alarms on the Silverwing started clicking frantically, moments before a sonic shock-wave ripped over its sensor rich surface causing the craft to shudder.
“What-” the suddenly perfectly alert Eight Clicks started to demand when a second shock-wave hit them.
“-was-” he rather boldly kept trying.
A third shock-wave triggered the self defense protocols in the Silverwing and it dove for the ground. In a moment it had pressed it’s underbelly to the foliage of the ground-cover, giving them a fine view of the soft, ear shaped leaves, still trembling from the wind of their landing.
“-that?” the determined Eight Click finally got out.
“Silverwing why have you diverted from your landing instructions,” the curt voice of the air traffic controller suddenly pipped up from the comms unit.
“We were knocked out of the sky by some sort of sonic wave!” Eight Click snapped. “Three of them!”
“Injuries?” the air traffic controller asked quickly.
There was a brief murmur of negatives from the back of the Silverwing and Five-Trill raised a wing for silence.
“We are uninjured and undamaged,” Five-Trills said. “The force of the sonic blasts triggered the emergency landing protocols in our Silverwing. It does not look like they had power enough to actually damage us, but before I take us airborne again I would like to know what caused it.”
“That will be tricky,” the air traffic controller said after a moment. “We are reading the disturbance but, despite its intensity it is difficult to get-”
“Human Friend Esteban,” Five-Trills suddenly cut in.
“Oh don’t worry,” the air traffic controller said with a click of amusement. “We will certainly send the resident human after whatever the threat-”
“No!” Five-Trills snapped. “Assume he is the cause, and use his location to compare to your data!”
There was a moment of sudden silence and then the voice on the other end heaved a tired sigh.
“Your analysis is correct-”
Another set of three sonic waves swept over them and the air traffic controller waited for them to pass.
“He requested clearance to test the function of a tool he has been making from the skin of that predator he killed on the other continent-”
Three more sonic waves, faster now.
“His justification was desire to participate in his ancestral culture through the construction of and practice with the tool-”
Six sonic waves coursed over them in rapid succession.
“There is in fact a note about how the tool uses sound waves to direct the course of large, dangerous herbivores-”
Now nine sonic waves, with increasing power, ripped over them.
“Can you tell him to stop?” demanded Five-Trills.
“I have triggered the visual alert in the training field,” the air traffic controller assured them.
Three more sonic waves whipped past before the sound stopped.
“Human Friend Estaban is coiling up the tool and signals that he is returning to the base proper,” the now cheerful voice announced.
“Coiling?” Five-Trills demanded.a “What is this thing exactly?”
“He called it a, bullwhip,” the air traffic controller announced. “Now I need to sign off. It should be safe for you to proceed to base.”
Five-Trills set about convincing the Silverwing it was safe to take off and shot Eight Clicks an annoyed glance.
“Always safer with the human around?” he demanded.
Eight Clicks shrugged.
“At least we are safe from large, directionless, herbivores,” he pointed out.

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Humans are Weird – Milk on the Fire

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-milk-on-the-fire
“Not now Trixy!” The human snapped without even turning to look at him.
Tcki’tx felt himself bristle with indignation and spun around on his center of gravity and stalked away wishing that his paws would make more of a stomping sound on the spiderwalk. Humans did have the advantage over every other species when it came to expressing passive displeasure. If a human was offended everyone but the Winged knew it soon enough from the shaking of the floor. Tcki’tx took the translation he had needed help with back to the main processing area.
The large circular space that had been arranged for the three human linguists now housed the offices of the Trisk, the Winged, and even had a kiosk for the occasional visiting Shatar diplomat, though Shatar linguists tended to be male and therefore preferred to share the workspace of a sister or cousin no matter what her specialty was, than to use the multi species spaces. Still there was the broad, low shelves that the Shatar preferred and it was here that Tcki’tx stomped and began the laborious process of figuring out how he had gone wrong with the translation of the archaic human poem without the help of a human.
“There is something here about a, I believe the translation is belt, but oh swarm that makes no sense,” Tcki’tx muttered to himself and he began to pull up the original text and overlay his notes on top of them, hoping to catch something he had missed.
“This shouldn’t be this difficult,” he complained to the world at large. “The language is well documented from a time well before the writing of this extract, it should be a simple matter of applying the rules.”
The nutritional anthropologist who had just transferred in, one Quilx’tch who was respected for being one of the first Trisk to interact with the humans and develop a working grasp of their language, entered the work space from one of the upper entrances on the spider walk and very deliberately positioned himself at a crosspoint of several walks. From the way he was holding his data pad he clearly needed help with a translation. Tcki’tx absorbed the movement around him and quickly realized that he was the least involved in his work. He finished setting up his notes then turned his body and waved up to the nutritionist. Come to think of it, he mused, Quilx’tch was a colleague of Human Friend Grover. Perhaps Quilx’tch would have an explanation of his behavior.
“Greetings Linguist Tcki’tx,” Quilx’tch said as he approached. “I trust that this day finds you...less stressed.”
Tcki’tx patted his hairs down with a wry set to his mandibles as he relaxed into the six pads of silence between question and answer. His discomfort was less well disguised than he had hoped.
“I am afraid I let myself be offended at one of the humans,” he confessed.
Quilx’tch politely patted down his own already smoothly laying hairs in sympathy with Tcki’tx while they waited the six pads. It was always so refreshing to speak to someone who didn’t expect you to respond to them in barely the time that it took your synapses to transfer the data.
“They are a boisterous folk,” Quilx’tch said with an amused set to his own mandibles. “I am much afraid I have taken offense for that is reasonable in my turn. Especially when they were hungry.”
Recalling that Human Friend Grover had been preparing food when he approached him, Tcki’tx felt his hairs twitch in unease. As soon as he had formed his question he asked it.
“Are humans prone to loss of social skill when they are hungry?” Tckt’tx asked.
Quilx’tch shifted his legs in a slow and amused confirmation as they both finished patting down their hairs.
“They call it being hangry,” the nutritional offered. “Mammals are notorious for being unable to maintain proper nutrient balances in their blood stream. Their metabolic demands mean that their purifying organs must be profoundly powerful. This among other things makes them prone to daily mood swings.”
“I do hope that Human Friend Grover was not offended at my offense,” Tcki’tx said.
To his shock Quilx’tch suddenly stiffened in horror and did not wait half of the six pads before demanding.
“You talked to Human Friend Grover?” Quilx’tch demanded. “Within the last hour?”
Tcki’tk stared at him in astonishment before answering.
“I did,” Tcki’tk answered slowly.
“He was not hangry!” Quilx’tch said his paws tapping in agitation. “I personally made sure he was nutrient balanced this morning. We are doing a complex experiment with bovine protein – oh swarm! If this batch carbonizes we will have to stop the experiment! Or beg the next system for protein! The only have Capra protein. Oh swarm, perhaps it didn’t carbonize! I must check!”
To Tcki’tk’s astonishment Quilx’tch spun and darted away without even a farewell gesture. Human Friend Léonie who had been busily typing away at a translation of “The Swarm of Mother’s Paws” paused and strolled over with an interested expression on his face.
“Yo Tcki’tk,” he greeted the Trisk. “What had our little food friend in such a flutter?”
“Apparently I may have critically disturbed a vital experiment in the nutrition department,” Tcki’tk replied.
Human Friend Léonie gave the polite pause and then shrugged.
“We’ve all been there,” Human Friend Léonie said. “They really need to get a work in progress sign up in the kitchens or something. Was that what got you all puffed up?”
“I was somewhat offended at Human Friend Grover’s rudeness,” Tcki’tk admitted.
“What was he working on?” Human Friend Léonie asked.
“He was heating bovine lactate protein,” Tcki’tk said.
Human Friend Léonie immediately started and only contained himself for the polite six seconds with visible effort. Tcki’tk felt a renewed twinge of unease, apparently his offense had been worse than he had thought.
“You mean you disturbed him when he, quite literally avait du lait sur le feu? Human Friend Léonie asked.
“It has a saying in your mother tongue,” Tcki’tk said, his body shrinking a bit with a sigh.
“That is does mon amie,” Human Friend Léonie said with a laugh. “Well don’t stress about it. You can apologize later and now you have a new phrase, as well as knowing not to bother someone while they have milk on the fire.”

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Humans are Weird – Waaaow Waaaow Waaaow

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-waaow-waaow-waaow

“The critical point is that we maintain the proper moisture gradient for the other species,” Gesturesoddly said as he held up the data pad. “Even a human’s native micro-fauna is insufficient to defend them from the fungal growths on this planet if their feet are not kept in an exactly balanced moisture environment.”
The new quartermaster who was to replace Gesturesoddly was trying very hard to attend to what the older quartermaster was saying. However several of his appendages were drifting around trying to find the source of the pulsing sound that bled down from the atmosphere into their aquatic habitat. Gesturesoddly considered taking pity on him but decided that it would be counterproductive. If the new quartermaster was to be successful in his post he would have to learn how to deal with humans. The sooner he learned what input was safe to filter out and what was not the better. Gesturesoddly tightened his appendages a bit and continued to discuss the reasons that they maintained such an abrupt moisture gradient in the main base.
When the new quartermaster did finally interrupt he seemed to have taken the hint that the noise was unimportant and only asked about the Shatar.
“Yes,” Gesturesoddly said, letting his appendages twitch in discomfort. “That was our hubris I am afraid. Normally no hive would ever allow even a twentieth cousin to risk herself on a world this hazardous. They really have no defenses worth mentioning on the surface of their outer membranes and such a damp base as this would be off-limits. However we had been so successful with the humans the university sent us a Shatar biochemist. She got a mild abrasion on her foot, mild even by their standards, and the infection set in quickly. Very odd that, it wasn’t a fungus, it was a plant. The hive naturally snatched her back so quickly that we barely had time to finish sending them the report on her health. I hear they had to amputate the leg. The first medical amputation they have had to preform in generations. It was quite traumatic for the entire hive.”
The telling of the tragedy had almost distracted the new quartermaster from the sound but they were reaching the part of the briefing where they had to go and inspect the giant fans that were used the circulate the air past the dehumidifier systems. The new quartermaster posed the natural question about using such inefficient circulatory systems in favor of passive and thermal designs and Gesturesoddly gave a hum of approval.
“We want a lack of efficiency,” Gesturesoddly said. “The passive systems have no vibration. In the moist sections the fungus grow wild. In the dry sections the lichens latch on and grow constantly. The vibration keeps a large percentage of the biomatter from finding secure holds and that added to the chaotic air movements saves us hundreds of hours of cleaning. Even so we have to send in rotational scrub bots to scour the walls and treat them with elemental antibiotics on a regular basis.”
The new quartermaster asked about the human rumors and Gesturesoddly jiggled in a fit of humor.
“Oh, yes that is all quite true,” he said. “The humans get so attached to the cleaning bots. They have named the ones on this base Spinny MacSpinface and Ever Spinnin. Supposedly these sound patterns have ancient cultural meanings.”
They were reaching the source of the odd pulsing sounds and Gesturesoddly could tell that the new quartermaster was about to ask about the clearly non-mechanical noise. However he had timed their swim precisely and they came up just by the main vents where the giant circulation fans were placed. The fans were set into the wall on one side of what looked like a comically oversize dehumidifier system. The air was pulled in from outside through the side of a barrel and the centrifugal force of the air movement caused most of the particulate matter, seeds, spores, pollen and the like to fall to the biomass collectors below before the air was pulled through the fist of three filters. Then the are was dehumidified mechanically by a temperature gradient, passed through another filter for finer particulate matter, was dehumidified chemically, and passed through an activated carbon nano-tube system that worked on a molecular level before being re-humidified from the now clean water and forced out into the base through the three fans each with the diameter of a large Undulate with all his appendages spread for open ocean swimming.
“Of course,” Gesturesoddly went on, switching entirely to their native language of gestures and touches as the pulsing sound overwhelmed them in the open air, “it is all terribly expensive, but the main problems it counters are mostly long term so we could shuffle on for several weeks if it had even a catastrophic failure, and the humans assure us so long as the chemical dehumidifiers could be arranged in the inner rooms they would be fine.”
“Are they,” the new quartermaster asked tentatively as they observed the three humans hunched in front of the fans, “are they quite fine now? That is not, that cannot be any language.”
“Waaaoooowwww, waaaaaooowwww!” the humans chanted into the fans.
“They find casting sound at running fans and feeling the resonance it throws back entertaining,” Gesturesoddly said with a nicely human shrug. “It is one of their more harmless forms of entertainment. At least they have not strapped any knives to the vent cleaning robots.”
The new quartermaster stiffened in confused horror. Gesturesoddly waved his main appendages fondly at the chanting humans.
“Yet,” he finished.

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Humans are Weird – They Aren’t There

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-they-arent-there
“Now,” Base Commander Third Trill said as he shuffled his notes, “Ranger Radzik will be arriving shortly. Are we prepared?”
There was a soft susurration of agreement from the assembled department heads. The respective heads of the botany and water quality departments were huddled close gently talking over something, from the look of it the odd contaminant that was appearing around the landing field. The Undulates were concerned about the matter and the commander supposed that he would need to arrange a meeting to deal with their agitation next. He idly lifted a winghook to rub a sensory horn as he wondered why he had ever perused a command career track.
The door opened and the new Shatar Chief of Medicine walked in. She shifted her attention from the readout on her datapad and her antenna curled down into tight little coils. Her neck frill pulled down against her neck. The base commander braced himself for whatever she had found wrong with the situation.
“I was informed this was not a disciplinary hearing,” First Sister said.
“It is not!” The base commander replied quickly. “We have assembled to show our united concern for Ranger Radzik.”
“I brought my assistants too,” the head of invertebrate research said, “in case Human Friend Radzik requires mass cuddles!”
First Sister rotated her triangular head and her proboscis flicked out to clean her already spotless eyes in a gesture that one didn’t need to be a zeno-kinesics expert to understand was a gesture of exasperation. Finally, after several painful seconds where the base commander wondered if it would be acceptable to continue the briefing while their head medic remained standing in the middle of the room. The larger bodies species were sometimes touchy about physical position.
“As the chief medic,” First Sister finally said firmly, “I must order this meeting dispersed, and quite quickly, except for the base commander, myself, and possibly the moral officer, though I would suggest that the moral officer leave as well.”
There was a murmur of surprise and a few of the undulates raised an appendage in query.
“Leave quickly,” repeated First Sister. “The answers to any questions you have will, no doubt, be found in the human psyche profile under negative reactions to community inspection of emotional difficulties.”
The surprised murmur followed the various Winged as they flew out of the meeting room and the Undulates as they swam to the edge of their hydration pools and shuffled towards the doors. Base Commander Third Trill was very carefully keeping his fur smoothed down as he exchanged farewell greetings. He did not like having his authority challenged in this manner, but First Sister was an experienced medic who had spent almost the entirety of her civil service time among humans. If there was a reason to meet Ranger Radzik alone, instead in the comfort of his community, she would know of it. Before he could form the question however the human in question walked in. He gave a cheery wave to the departing undulates before striding up and straddling his long legs over an entire workstation designed for a Shatar.
“Base Commander, First Sister,” Ranger Radzik greeted them with words the a polite Shatar like rotation of his massive head.
He was a rather non-descriptive human. He had avoided any obvious scarring so far. He was of average height for the giants, average skin-tone, average fur density, average eye color, and even perfectly average tooth spacing. Except for the white of his teeth and eyes he was a near uniform shade a light brown. Quite frankly he would do quite well for an illustration of “Human” in a children’s book of the seven sapient species.
He sat there idly swinging his legs as they waited for the slowest of the Undulates to make his way out of the room. Base Commander Third Trill unobtrusively pulled up a separate report to work on while they waited. He had made several sentences of progress by the time the last Undulate made it out of the room.
“So what did you need to talk to me about?” Ranger Radzik asked.
The base commander flicked his datapad back to the issue at hand.
“We were concerned about your mental health Ranger Radzik,” he said.
The massive eyebrows rose in surprise and the human frowned.
“About what now?” he asked, a sudden wary tone in his voice.
The base commander gestured for First Sister to continue.
“It has been observed that you have displayed continual stress and discomfort indicators whenever you are outside of the base and for some time after you return,” First Sister said.
She flicked an antenna meaningfully at the base commander in what he took to be a reproachful gesture.
“As these displays,” she went on, “are of hunched shoulders, frequently checking your blind spot, and in general seem to be a response to an aerial predator we are actually less pressingly concerned for your mental health than the base commander makes it sound, other than that your mental health would, of course, be impacted by-”
She cut short the sentence and gave a vague gesture towards the door.
“By getting eaten by whatever it is I’m reacting to,” the human said with an understanding laugh.
“Several clusters of surveys reported no evidence of predator species,” Base Commander Third Trill said in confusion.
“Yeah, no,” Ranger Radzik said nodding his head. “You were right about it being a mental health thing.”
“What mental health thing produces the symptoms of sensing an aerial predator?” First Sister asked, curling one antenna down skeptically.
“It’s the mountains,” Ranger Radzik answered.
The base commander turned to look at Second Sister in confusion, but the doctor was clearly just as perplexed as him.
“There are no mountains around this base,” he said slowly. “The land is uniformly flat for kilometers in every direction.”
“That’s the problem,” Ranger Radzik said. “I got used to mountains at my last station. Had them back home too, all around the village I grew up in. Now it bothers my brain that they’re not there. I’ll get over it though.”
“Very good,” First Sister said making a note. “Would you mind discussing this issue with a few of the more active gossips on the base?”
“Was I freaking out some folks?” Ranger Radzik asked with a grin.
“You were rather,” First Sister said. “Notably anyone who understood human body language.”
“I’ll spread the word around,” Ranger Radzik said as he rose. “That all?”
“That is all,” the base commander affirmed.
The human left and Base Commander Third Trill felt more than saw First Sister focus her attention on him.
“Now,” the doctor said pulling up a terrifyingly dense data stream. “Since you did not know that it would be inadvisable to address a humans mental health is a group session I think we have some instructional material to go over.”

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Humans Are Weird – I Said I Liked It- Animatic

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-i-said-i-liked-it
“Greetings and salutations, Friend Dodge!” Quilx’tch called out as six of his legs scampered over the main countertop of the cafeteria.
Survey Core Ranger Mack Dodge turned to look at him, and Quilx’tch clutched his tablet to his abdomen tightly. He was no expert in human physiology, but Friend Dodge did not look good. The skin under his twin eyes was sagging in a way that would indicate the terminal stage of a rather horrific infection in one of Quilx’tch’s people. The broad span of Friend Dodge’s shoulders slumped several degrees down from the usual square he held them in. This made climbing his back to perch on them rather awkward. Quilx’tch did not know the proper protocol for asking humans to square their shoulders. Furthermore, Friend Dodge’s mouth was twisted into that odd expression – humans’ creepily flexible mandible coverings were so hard to read – was it a grimace?
“Friend Dodge!” Quilx’tch called out in shock. “Are you capable of keeping your eyes open?” Even a new-molted fellow like Quilx’tch knew that humans needed to keep the fleshy coverings on their eyes closed for a good portion of their rest cycles. At the moment, Friend Dodge’s were barely half-open and twitching spasmodically.
“Hey, Quick,” Friend Dodge slurred out, his cavernous mouth opening in a great gasp to draw in air. “Mostly, I guess.”
Quilx’tch tried to make sense of this as he approached the human and kept pace with him. “Are you ill, Friend Dodge?”
Quilx’tch asked as they reached the section of the cafeteria bar dedicated to the humans’ heated drinks.
“Ill?” Friend Dodge replied. “Nah, just up too late last night. Didn’t get to bed till oh-dark-thirty.”
Quilx’tch paused and tapped his hindmost leg thoughtfully against the counter top. “I am not familiar with that temporal designation, Friend Dodge,” he finally confessed.
“Eh.” The noise Friend Dodge made was indistinct and not followed by any clarification, so Quilx’tch watched patiently as the human chose his drink elements and prepared them.
“Interesting,” Quilx’tch commented as Friend Dodge began sipping out of the cup of steaming water with a happy sigh. “The symptoms of sleep deprivation are fading.”
“Good old yellow bag tea,” Friend Dodge explained, holding out the cup. “My favorite poison.”
“I have heard that statement before,” Quilx’tch observed. “However, forgive me, but I must doubt that what you are consuming is actually poison.”
“It’s a figure of speech,” Friend Dodge said with a chuckle. “Just means that the item in question is my preferred stimulant,” he paused and tilted his head to the side. “But it is used for depressants too.”
“I see,” Quilx’tch said, rapidly taking notes on his tablet.
“Oh, good heavens, how do you drink that swill?” a third voice cut into the conversation as another human approached.
Quilx’tch glanced up in surprise as the second human brushed past on his way to the food counter, not stopping for an answer to his question. Friend Dodge only grunted at the other human and resumed drinking his tea.
“He does not share your opinion of the quality of this beverage,” Quilx’tch observed.
“Sure he does,” Friend Mack said with a grin. “The stuff is swill.”
“But you just said it was the best,” Quilx’tch protested in confusion.
“Nope,” Friend Dodge said, shaking his head. “I said that I liked it, not that it was good. There’s a difference there.”
Quilx’tch stared blankly at Friend Dodge, hoping that the human would at least try to explain that bit of nonsense, but Friend Dodge only finished his tea and left with a cheery wave. Quilx’tch watched him go and slowly entered his observations into his tablet.
Odd. Odd indeed.

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Animatic - "Humans are Werid: We Took a Vote"

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Humans are Weird – Hold Down the Fort

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-hold-down-the-fort
The position of lead reference librarian, even in a branch University, was deeply interesting if one was of the type who was fascinated by the principle of ordering chaos. It was also highly respectable and well paid. Second Grandmother Droon Primary First Hive had felt the honor of the promotion to the very tips of her antenna when the University Comity had offered her the position. With her own First Cousin settled down in her garden and her Third Grandchild well into trotting age, it had been time to extend her antenna. Second Grandfather had been more than amenable to leaving the care of the garden lines to the next generation of Fathers and seeking out some adventure so they had packed up a few seeds and set off on the next available star liner. Second Grandfather had found a nice little niche volunteering with the sprout germination greenhouse in the botany department and so far Second Grandmother was enjoying her work at the library immensely. A pronounced rustling of wings announced the arrival of a young and energetic flight of Winged and Second Grandmother took a moment to ensure that her person and clothing offered no convenient perches and moved to stand beside the provided, ceiling mounted perches. It was of course possible that the flight of Winged were planning on doing their own research but this section of the library had been reformatted with humans in mind. Most of the physical media outmassed and individual winged and the data kisoks were designed for hands that were nearly the full width of a Winged’s body. As she expected the immediately angled for her work area and swept around her a few times looking for a “friendly perch”, finding none the contented themselves to latch onto the hanging perches.
“Greetings!” dozens of tiny voices called out. “We seek information!”
“Greeting,” Second Grandmother replied with a flicker of her age limp neck frill. “How may I help you?”
There was a chaotic swarm of words as the entire flight, a very young one she observed from the downright fluffy state of some of the individuals, tried to explain their request at once. She let the noise die down until they were all looking at her expectantly. She raised a single digit and tilted her head to the side. The gesture meant nothing in Shatar culture but it was a useful acquisition from the humans. It seemed to create a focal point that species with binocular vision seemed compelled to focus on.
“Now,” Second Grandmother said sternly. “I did not understand a single thread of those comments. Choose a speaker and have him inform me what your request is.”
There was an instant wash of confused movement through the flight as their voices rose in pitch to their native tones as they delegated a speaker, though Second Grandmother supposed that might just be her own biases speaking. The hundreds of tiny flitting movements probably were ordered with military precision by their own point of view. They finally decided on a middle sized Winged with soft amber fur and deep crimson eyes. A statically odd color combination in her experience.
“We would like to determine the meaning,” the Winged began in carefully lowered tones, “of a human expression we heard.”
There was a frantic flutter of noise as the flight behind him set up a protest of some sort and the speaker stated and twisted his head around to snap back at them. The flutter quieted and he looked back at Second Grandmother.
“We of course would have asked the humans for clarification first,” he explained. “We know the protocol. However the phrase appears to be a farewell greeting and the human that said it was the last human to leave our base for that cycle and we were reassigned here before we could meet any more humans.”
Second Grandmother let her head rotate from side to side.
“And on this University we are somewhat restricted to vocabulary poor engineers,” she finished the thought thread. I touch your problem.”
She indicated the data kiosk at her fingertips.
“What can I help you with then?” she asked.
“Hold down the fort,” the speaker said quickly. “Human Friend Tom said it with an accompanying gesture of farewell as his last words as he boarded the transport.”
“Do you have a recording?” Second Grandmother asked.
“We do,” the speaker said.
There was a more localized flutter in the flight and a data crystal was dropped on the kiosk reader screen. The relevant data was quite well marked and Second Grandmother pulled it up easily. There was the human striding up the loading ramp. He made the generic gesture of farewell. He said the words. Second Mother quickly identified his accent and applied a phonetic scan. The individual words were identified easily, but each word possessed multiple meanings and applying a literal translation produced far too many reasonable results to be useful. However the common idiom filter had pinged a very solid result significantly before she was done reading the literally translations.
“Here is the root,” Second Grandmother said with satisfaction. “It is simply a common farewell saying. It is a recognition that the target has the responsibility of maintaining the location and a goodwill indicator,”
The flight fluttered happily and most of the abandoned the perches to fly around her neck and look down at the display. However as she rotated the information up the screen the noises turned to fascinated distress. They talked over each other so quickly that she could only catch the occasional word, “Classified”, “History”, and “strange”, cropped up quite a bit, but she had no trouble understanding the confusion.
“The majority of the etymological history appears to be given the emotional distress restrictions,” she stated. “You, as adults, are free to gain access to all of the data but it is suggested that I not pull up the information, especially the visual data, on a common space screen.”
The flight swept away without so much as a physical gesture of farewell and Second Grandmother curled her antenna in annoyance as she hadn’t been able to press her frill tightly against her neck for some years now. Curious herself about the classification now she moved to a private reader and opened the etymological history of the word.
“A military term,” she clicked to herself.
Odd how many military terms the humans co-opted into common usage. The documentation noted the shift the phrase had undergone, the addition of ‘down’, some time ago making the original phrase “hold the fort”. Then the explanation that it was an order given to a fortified military base to maintain the status quo until reinforcements or resupply arrived. She wondered why this had been classified at all. Granted it was a light classification that essentially stripped down to children needing the approval of their guardians but still it was odd. Then she reached the visual documentation of example of what “holding the fort” actually meant. She watched the depiction of battles, sieges, sacrifice, and brutality while her antennas curled ever tighter to her head. Human history was no secret. They were notoriously open about everything. Still, she stopped the playback and tilted her head to concentrate on the Winged’s “Human Friend Tom” as he sauntered off of the base he was leaving. Every angle of his body spoke of cheerfulness and relaxation. His vocal tones were bright, with a hint of laughter. His membrane was flushed with pleasant colors.
“Why would he summon such a dark concept while in such a bright mental state?” she asked of no one in particular.
“We don’t know,” came a voice from above her.
The Winged speaker had returned.
“The base was in no danger and Human Friend Tom was well aware of the fact,” he went on. “I need some page lifting equipment by the way. Nice selection of primary sources you’ve got here. We are trying to figure out if he saw a threat we didn’t. Or if humans just have a high tolerance for dark implications.”
The winged darted back to his flight with the equipment and left Second Grandmother staring in perplexity at the image of Human Friend Tom striding up the ramp.

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Humans are Weird – Faces in a Mirror

Original Post: http://www.authorbettyadams.com/bettys-blog/humans-are-weird-faces-in-a-mirror

“You want permission to do what?” Wing Commander Eighth Trill said as he stared, his nose wrinkled with perplexity.
“I believe that the proposal is fully explained in the document,” Third Sister replied.
She tapped the datapad with one digit to pull up the specifications of the study she was preforming again and indicated the specific section that detailed what she needed from the base commander. The Winged flexed his membranous wings and thoughtfully rubbed his winghooks over his sensory horns.
“It could be done,” he said in a cautious tone, “but it will be highly uncomfortable for the Undulates. I am afraid that with our currently limited technological resources we are simply unable to make the main surface of the wall that reflective without scattering light pollution all over the room. It’s is not a problem for either your species or mine but the Undulates are capable of differentiating nearly every nanometer of light. Such artificial scattering can cause them mild to significant irritation.”
“If you examine the collateral consequence section of the proposal you will see that that has been addressed,” Third Sister said, pulling up the relevant screens and shifting her neck frill in a brisk gesture. “All of the Undulates have agreed to safety waivers that easily encompass the irritation caused by the light scattering. I will be collecting data on their reactions incidentally to the main study.”
Wing Commander Eighth Trill gave a low, wordless grumble as he examined the section.
“I am not, nor have I ever been comfortable with preforming psychological experimentation on sapient beings,” he finally stated.
“Every antenna twitch of this study has been vetted by the central comity ethics board,” Third Sister quickly reminded him. “There will be no lasting harm caused to any participants and the human targets will likely enjoy the situation.”
“It is not even possible to fully meet the requirements of your study,” the wing commander stated with a dubious curl of one lip.
“How so?” Third Sister asked, tilting her head to the side.
“The process for resetting the reflectivity of the structurally important walls is quite complex,” he said as slowly as a Winged ever spoke. “I cannot, in good conscience, dedicate enough resources to reset it before and after each meal time. The engineers would have to leave the reflectivity in place for the duration of the study. I do not know enough of your parameters to know if that is acceptable to you or not.”
Third Sister leaned back and thoughtfully flicked her proboscis up to clean the surface of her eyes.
“That will not significantly change the results of the study,” she finally said. “Or if it does we will be able to use the other studies being done at the universities to make it a valid variable.”
“Well then,” Wing Commander Eighth Trill said, briskly closing the documents. “I will order my engineers to begin the process. We can have the surfaces ready in two local days.”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Third Sister said, rotating her triangular head slightly in a polite farewell greeting.
To her surprise the usually brusque wing commander took the time to return the gesture. His sensory horns and flexible neck allowed him to almost perfectly replicate the movement before the flitted off to his next duty.
As he had claimed, the wall of the cafeteria were reset to her specifications within two days. The humans, as predicted, were in general quite pleased with the result aesthetically, although they did occasionally start on seeing their own reflections move, and there was one unfortunate incident with a young engineer simply walking, smack into the wall. On being questions by the medics he had simply shrugged and stated that he had thought the other guy was going to move out of the way. The Undulates grumbled a bit but soon adapted. Overall the base adapted to the change quite quickly and Third Sister and her cohort were quickly collecting data on the noted phenomena. She was giving her quarterly update on research to the base commander when he asked about the results.
“We have not yet finished collecting the data,” Third Sister said, “let alone recording and analyzing it. However given that I have yet to witness a negative or even null result I think I can safely say that the initial negative hypothesis was correct.”
“How did you even decide to quantify such a thing?” Wing Commander Eighth Trill said as he flicked through the collected images. “Some of these look like perfectly normal behaviors I witness on a daily basis.”
“The first thing we did,” Third Sister said, “even before we had the wall altered, was to gather a baseline of muscle movement for humans while eating. We then eliminated all muscular contractions that fell into that category. Fortunately for our study none of our human cohort on the base have faces that fall even a standard deviation out of the human norm for tissue damage and flexibility so we were able to use data from all of them. There is of course no way to account for idea expression during conversation per se, but we avoided that by only collecting data when an individual human had broken eye contact with their companions and was making self-eye contact with the mirrors. Unfortunately we cannot rule out the possibility of them making eye contact, and expressing positional information with another party who happened to be in the scope of their binocular vision, but those instances are so few as to not throw off our data overall.”
“Very interesting to you head headshrinkers I am sure,” Wing Commander Eighth Trill said. “By the updraft, what was that philosophers quote you were trying to verify with this experiment? I need it for my reports.”
“The original quote is actually unsourced,” Third Sister said. “Most of the humans are aware of it. I was able to track down three who had read it from a secondary source. However all they recalled was that it was an “old book” in some library of physical media they read as children before their memory formation was stable. One was able to recall that the secondary source was printed in the early twentieth century of their current calendar. However as every human I have proposed the quote too agreed with its principle I felt confident enough to base a study on it.”
“And what was the quote?” Wing Commander Eighth Trill asked as he entered in a notation for a sourceless quote.
“There never was a human yet,” Third Sister said, “Who when sitting cross from a glass, did not make faces in it.”
Wing Commander Eight Trill glanced down one more time at the images of the contorted human features and his lips twitched in amusement.
“Confirmed indeed,” he said.

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