Humanity has finally reached the stars and found out why no one had contacted us. The universe is in a sad state. As such, Doctors without Borders, Red Cross, and many othe charities go intergalactic.

The thing the recruiters don’t tell you about space battles is that you die slowly.

Ships don’t blow up cleanly in flashes and sparks.  Oh, if you’re in the engine room, you’ll probably die instantly, but away from that?  In the computer core, or the communications hub?  You just lose power.  And have to sit, air going stale and room slowly cooling, while you wait to find out if the battle is won or lost.

If it’s lost, nobody comes for you.

It had been about half a day (that’s a Raithar day, probably a bit shorter than yours) and Kvala and I were pretty sure we had lost.  Kvala was injured, Traav and I were dehydrated and exhausted, and Louv was dead, hit by shrapnel when the conduits blew.

Most fleets give you something, of course.  For Raithari, it’s essence of windgrass.  I looked at the vial.

“It’s too soon,” Traav said.

Kvala gestured negation, shakily.  She had been burned when conduits blew, and her feathers were charred, and her leftmost eye was bubbly and blind now.  Even if we were rescued, she probably wouldn’t survive.  “You know we’re losing the war.”

They couldn’t deny that.  “It doesn’t mean we lost the battle.”

“Doesn’t it?  The Chreee have better technology.  Better resources.  And they have their warrior code.  They don’t care if they die.”

“We can’t give up!” Traav protested.  They were young, a young and reckless thar who had listened to a recruiting officer and still believed scraps of what they had been told.  “Any heartbeat now—”

There was a clunk.  Something had docked with our fragment of the ship.

“You see?!” Traav crowed triumphantly.

Kvala exchanged glances with me.  The Chreee never bothered to hunt down survivors.  What was the point, after all?

The Aushkune did.

There weren’t supposed to be Aushkune here.  They were supposed to hide in nebulas.

But if there were—

If there were, we were too late.  The windgrass couldn’t possibly destroy our nervous systems in time to stop the corpse-reviving implants, and once you were implanted, it was over—or it would never be over, depending on how you looked at it and whether Aushkune drones were aware of anything—

Footsteps.

Bipedal.  The Aushkune were supposed to be bipedal.

And then the blast door opened, and a figure stood in it.  My first thought was, robot?  That’s almost worse than Aushkune . . .  But no, it was a being in some sort of suit.

Who wore suits?

“Friendly contact,” the suit’s sound system blared, as the being moved over to Kvala.  “Urgent treatment.  Evacuation.”

“Who are you?”  Kvala struggled upright.

Despite the primitive suit, the blocky being was using up-to-date medical scanners.  “Low frequency right angle shape,” it explained—or maybe didn’t explain.  Two more figures came into the room and put Kvala firmly onto a stretcher.

“You’re with the Chreee, aren’t you?”  Kvala was not at all happy to be on a stretcher.

“Not Chreee,” the sound system said.  “You Man.  Soil Starship Nichols.”  The being hesitated.  “Rescue Chreee as well.  On ship.  Will separate.”

“You what?” I said faintly.  Who would do that?

“Oath,” the being explained.

“What kind of oath?  To what deity?”

The shoulders of the being moved up and down.  “Several different.  Also none.  For me, none.  Just—oath.”

I exchanged glances with Traav, who looked as unsettled as I was.  I had never, ever heard of groups cooperating when they couldn’t even swear to or by the same power.

The being scanned me.  “Have water,” it said.  “Recommend.”

Raithari have fast metabolisms.  I could—would—die of thirst quickly, and painfully.

“Where will you take us,” Traav asked, “after you give us water?”

“Raithari to Raithar.  Chreee to Chreeeholm.”

“Chreeeholm would kill them for failing,” Traav remarked.

The being hesitated, and then said, “War news sometimes bad.  Sometimes lie.”

We had learned long ago not to believe the recruiting officers, but what did that have to do with anything?

“And you—what?” I asked.  “Just fly around looking for battles and rescuing victims?”

The being seemed to consider this.  “Best invention of soil,” it said finally.

Most of what it was saying didn’t make any sense.  Did it worship soil?  But it had said that it had sworn to no deity . . .

Madness.

On the other hand—war was a deliberate, rational act by deliberate, rational people, and I wanted no more of it.  So why not embrace madness and see what happened?

“Soil Starship—Rrikkol?” I asked, stumbling over the word.

“Yes.  Soil Starship Nichols.”

I followed the being in the suit.

Took me well over a minute to realize "low frequency right angle shape" was Red Cross.

I love how this shows the weirdness both of language and of culture. Excellent writing!

"Soil Starship Nichols"

This is what took me a moment.

Earth Starship [Nichelle] Nichols

"We call it vff," said the alien. "It's - it's hard to describe to a species without vffsense. Imagine trying to describe light to a species that never evolved eyes. But there are forms of life that are only perceptible with vffsense, and they've visited Earth and fed on life as long as it's existed here."

There was a pause.

Then the human said, "That's the worst thing you've ever said."

"Don't worry about it."

"I think I have to, now."

"No, because - well - you have a species of spider which pretends to be an ant, correct? It's not capable of understanding the fact that it's mimicking an ant, but it instinctually mimics an ant in order to deter predators."

"Sure?"

"Humans produce a vff to mimic varths, predators only perceptible through vffsense. The organisms that would like to feed on you are terrified of varths, and so they leave you alone. You aren't aware you do it, you don't have the capacity to understand you're doing it, but you evolved to instinctually do it to deter predators you can't see."

There was a pause.

Then the human said in a very soft and thoughtful voice, "And are there varths on Earth?"

"Yes," said the alien. "Everywhere. But don't worry about it."

"I think I have to, now."

"Well, varths can also sense vff, of course, but to a varth you putting off varth like vff isn't particularly frightening."

"Not frightening, ok. So do they feed on us?"

"No."

"So if not feeding then something... else?"

"Yes. Quite a lot of something else actually."

"What do you mean a lot of something else?"

"Well, you know ostriches?"

"Yeah?"

"When you humans keep ostriches, sometimes you accidentally exhibit features and behaviors that... appeal to an ostrich more than a member of their own species."

"So you're saying varth find us-"

"Incconsivably sexy, desirable to the point they abandon their own home planet and species with some regularity. It's actually quite fascinating, humans are to varth as cats are to catnip."

"Wow that's a lot to take in... you sure know a lot of animal metaphors. You could be a zoologist."

"I am a zoologist"

"Oh?"

"That's why I'm here, talking to you."

"Ah."

Humans are space orcs this, humans pack-bond with anything that, what if the real reason aliens love us is because we have perfectly-shaped hands for petting.

Humans have finally managed to land on Mars, only to find a locked safe buried in the Martian soil. The key is apparently on Earth, but no one knows where.

The galactic council watched on to see how humanity would handle the task, much as they had with several species before. What the test was supposed to show was whether or not a species of violent nature could ever be brought to work together. They finally picked something up, another ship already headed to Mars? Was it possible humans were that clever to have found the key, maybe it was more specialists and equipment to analyze the locked crate to ensure it was safe to open. A few minutes after landing, they got another broadcast from the red planet.

“This is the LockPickingLawyer and today I’ve got something quite special, this locked alien chest. First of all I have to thank everyone who recommended me for the job, I’m honored that you all thought of me. Now let’s get to work”

The council representatives were confused as they started analyzing the translation, before even getting through the name he spoke something haunting

“Normally I don’t say things like this but this lock is quite unique, however with no security pins it will still be quite quick.”

“There we go, a click on 3… “

All the species of the galactic council sat dumbfounded, they spent many galactic cycles refining and perfecting their study and in all their time not a singular race had tried this method. Click after click, even in such an intricate lock the human had only spent around five minutes tampering with it.

“There we go, now while I can’t open this as part of my video I can say that I at least have a clue what the key should look like in case it ever gets locked again. I admire the design choices and the fact that at least it was harder to get open than anything Master Lock has made”

we are the “oh, I know a guy” teamwork species

(Un)lucky Numbers

Humans are weird right? We have weird diets, we don’t know how to let the environment kill us, and we believe the oddest things. Like a day can be unlucky because of a number, or saying something makes it more likely to happen, or certain things bring bad luck. I just don’t see some of these things passing as we go into space.

—

Alien: Human friend, why have you locked yourself in your room?

Human: Because it’s Friday the 13th.

Alien: What does that have to do with anything?

Human: Bad luck, something always happens. I’m just going to sleep, see you tomorrow.

Alien: I… okay? *walks away perturbed and confused*

—

Alien: Human friend, have you made contact with your, ah, “Parents” recently?

Human: Shhhhh, don’t say it.

Alien: Say… what?

Human: Nothing, just… nothing.

Alien: … Do you mean, refer to your “pa-”

Human: DON’T MENTION THEM!!

Alien: But… why?

Human: They’ll call and then I have to deal with them and explain why I ran away to another space ship.

*comm rings*

Human: I’M NOT HERE!

They stop at Mars. There’s no reason not too. Xan’Toch wants this relationship to work, it’s been many years since there was a major intergalactic failing. Xan’Toch is not keen to repeat last time and the humans’ request to stop at world that is devoid of life is not the weirdest request Xan’Toch has received. 

The human is young and goes by the name Carrie. Xan’Toch has been informed that she is a female or a “woman” as she prefers. She carries with her a bag filled with old transmitters and outdated equipment. Her space suit is clearly higher tech, almost laughably so. She stands at a viewing port, intense in a way Xan’Toch cannot understand. What could be on this planet that is worth stopping for?

They land not far from the coordinates Carrie gave them. Curious and wanting to take notes on this strange new species, Xan’Toch asks to accompany Carrie on her mission. She agrees but seems more focused on getting out fo the airlock.

The bag seems to be heavy, and though Xan’Toch offers, Carrie says she will carry it herself. Xan’Toch makes a note–Humans are either possessive of things they deem theirs or stubborn. Either one could become an issue if they are pressed in the wrong way. Xan’Toch has been smoothing inter-species relationship for far too long to let details like that slip by. Though humans, by and large, are confusing and seem…disinclined in fitting into the categories Xan’Toch has organized most species into, every bit of information is important. 

Xan’Toch remains silent on their journey. They are heading for a ridge, and for the life of them, Xan’Toch cannot tell what the difference between this ridge and every other ridge on the planet is. But they keep their mouth shut, in fear of insulting Carrie. This species is one of many with confusing religions and Xan’Toch does not wish to insult a human god of some sort. 

She seems to know where she’s going, though how Xan’Toch doesn’t know how. Humanity has said they’ve never sent people past their moon. Carrie slows, struggling up the steeper terrain. Xan’Toch, of a hearty species, helps where they can. 

“There!” Carrie cries, sliding down a rock face. Xan’Toch winces–surely they know the dangers of damaging their space suit? Carrie doesn’t seem to care and is very busy dusting off–something. Xan’Toch approaches, confused. They cannot figure out what Carrie is cleaning off. They catch a reflection and suddenly the thing Carrie has found no longer seems to be a rock. 

It’s mechanical and old. Xan’Toch cannot name some of the parts that make it up but Carrie seems to know what to do. Which doesn’t make sense. Humans, as primitive as they are, have some very interesting and impressive bit of engineering. Whatever Carrie has found is outdated even to humans. 

“What is this?” Xan’Toch asks, hoping they haven’t crossed some invisible line.

“Opportunity,” Carrie replies, fixing hoses and replaces what looks like old solar panels. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Xan’Toch says, after several moments. 

Carries laughs, and shoots Xan’Toch what they know now to be a ‘grin.’ Something indicative of human happiness. “This is Opportunity,” She says, gesturing to the old machine, almost obscured by the dust and sand. “She was an exploratory Rover back in the early 2000s, gathering information on Mars. She was lost after a major dust storm came through, it knocked her solar panels and communications out. Her last broadcast….” Carrie looks back at the machine, apparently called ‘Opportunity.’ “She reported that her batteries were low….and that is was cold. After fifteen years, Opportunity finally stopped. She finally rested among the stars.”

Xan’Toch has lost the thread of this conversation. Carrie sounds…fond, sad even. Like this machine meant something more than exploration and science. Like it had been a friend, lost to a planet unknown. It doesn’t make sense. It is simply a tool. 

“You look confused,” Carrie comments but doesn’t seem surprised. “It’s…silly, but I grew up listening about Oppy’s adventures. Seeing her discoveries and getting excited when she found something new. When we lost contact…I cried. I wasn’t alone. Losing Oppy felt like losing a friend. She took thousands and thousands of pictures and took so many samples–she-she was here when we couldn’t be. We left a mark on Mars before we could stand on it. And now I’m here and…” Carrie swipes a hand across what looks to be an optical device. 

Xan’Toch has no words. Has to previous experience with this. from the sounds of it, humanity….bonded with this machine. Sent it off into space, followed its discoveries and mourned its final malfunction. 

“I can bring her back. Whether it’s just back online or back to Earth I don’t know yet. But…I had to stop. I had to see her, to let her know we hadn’t forgotten.”

What Carrie’s saying doesn’t make any sense to Xan’Toch. But what she’s saying is genuine, full of feeling. They do not know what to say or how to articulate it back to their superiors. So Xan’Toch does the only thing they can. 

They walk over and start digging Opportunity out of…her grave. 

The smile Carrie gives them is worth it. 

Hey. Why isn’t the moon landing a national holiday in the US. Isn’t that fucked up? Does anyone else think that’s absurd?

It was a huge milestone of scientific and technological advancement. (Plus, at the time, politically significant). Humanity went to space! We set foot on a celestial body that was not earth for the first time in human history! That’s a big deal! I’ve never thought about it before but now that I have, it’s ridiculous to me that that’s not part of our everyday lives and the public consciousness anymore. Why don’t we have a public holiday and a family barbecue about it. Why have I never seen the original broadcast of the moon landing? It should be all over the news every year!

It’s July 20th. That’s the day of the moon landing. Next year is going to be the 54th anniversary. I’m ordering astronaut shaped cookie cutters on Etsy and I’m going to have a goddamn potluck. You’re all invited.

Hey. Hey. Tumblr. Ides of March ppl. We can do this

Hell yeah moon holiday

July 20: Moon Day.

Imagine an alien sharing a cool human fact they just learned like ”hey guys did you know that the silvery markings on humans actually aren’t true stripes? They’re called stretch marks, they happen when the human is growing fast enough to actually outgrow their skin, which is apparently something that just fucking happens to almost all of them at some point of their life.”

and another one is like ”wait so you’re saying humans don’t have stripes.”

”actually they do, but the stripes are invisible. There’s genetic code that’d give them stripes but they’re just the same colour as the rest of the skin. So the visible stripes are not real stripes and the real stripes are invisible.”

”I swear if you tell me one more weird human thing today I’m beating your ass.”

The human in the room looks up and goes "Wait I have stripes?"

"what do you mean cats can see them, but I can't?"

what do you fucking mean cats can see them

I WENT THROUGH THE SAME THOUGHT PROCESS

MY CAT THINKS I HAVE STRIPES?!?!?!?

NO NO ITS NOT "IT THINKS I HAVE THEM"

BECAUSE WE DO APPARENTLY

SO ITS ACTUALLY A VERY DISTRESSED "MY CAT THINKS I KNOW I HAVE STRIPES?!?!?!"

AND I THINK THATS A BIT WORSE TO BE COMPLETELY HONEST

MY CAT KNEW I HAD STRIPES BEFORE I DID?!?!?!?!?!?

I DIDNT THINK OF THAT

WELL I DID AND NOW I CANT UNTHINK IT

@beenovel @messiambrandybuck these are the variants

WHAT

apparently there's a disease where they become visable, and these are the most common kind??

Ngl it looks cool but???? I'm still in shock tbh

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT PATTERN OF STRIPES I HAVE AND THE CATS WON'T TELL ME

I COULD HAVE A CHECKERBOARD ON MY BACK AND NO ONE WOULD KNOW???

They’re called Blaschko's lines!!!

The reverse can also be true ... kinda.

I remember reading somehwre the human eye can see more shades of green than any other colour. I just googled it and the human eye can see 10 Million different shades of green.

So human could see stripes and patterns on, say, a reptillian race who maybe can’t see as many colours as we do, and think they’re just one boring shade of green.

Human: We have stripes?! I wish I could see them. I hope they look like yours.

Reptile Alien: Wait, I HAVE STRIPES!

*mutual excitement all around*

Consider. A human wakes up in a strange medical bay, with an alien doctor standing over them. Turns out their shuttle crashed, and the alien ship only just managed to teleport the, on board in time.

By some miracle, the doctor explains, they escaped with only minor injuries. Some burns, a few scratches and “several small wounds. We’re not sure what caused them.”

“Wounds?”

“Small holes in your ear lobes. Possibly they were old wounds and unrelated to the accident, but either way, our doctors were able to heal them for you. There’s not even any scarring.”

The human pauses. Thinks for a minute. “Wait… you unpierced my ears?!”

“I… Suppose we did?  Is that a problem?”

“Er, not exactly.  It can be redone. though it’s not gonna be fun.  But my people do that to ourselves on purpose.  It’s self-ornamental…  I don’t know the word.  We decorate ourselves with small stones and bits of shaped metal or plastic.”

“Oh!!  I’m sorry, that’s a fairly rare behavior among sapients.  Why, if I may ask?”

“uh.  It…  Looks cool?  I guess?”

“…My experience with humans is limited, but I gather that’s the reason for many of your behaviors.”

*from the next bay over comes the anguished scream of your co-pilot*

“WHERE THE FUCKING FUCK ARE MY TATTOOS?!”

Captain’s report after the incident above:

Should the crew ever found another Human in a state of medical emmergency and the said Human is not conscious or coherent enough to reliably communicate, the medical personel is required to heal only those wound and bodily abnormalities, which are acutely life treathening or which do actively prevent said Human from communicating. Once these most severe instances are taken care of, for the sake of their mental well being and as a prevention against accidental cultural mishaps, any further surgeries and corrections are to be performed only after recieving a direct aproval from the patient.

Humans are space orcs, but humans are real fucking sneaky and don't tell anyone they're predators after realizing that other sentient species are all prey. It starts out as wanting to assimilate without any negative stigma, but eventually they realize that we're really alone as sentient predators.

So q human goes on a research ship and that ship gets stranded on a deathworld and everyone freaks put bc they don't know how to handle this but the human's just like 'build shelter, hunt food, start a fire' and they're all like 'hunt food???!!' And they human's like 'shit'.

So they see a human climb trees, throw shit, track prey and realize 'oh no, that thing could kill us' but the human's helping and they don't really have the man power to get rid of them.

And eventually they realize the whole pack bonding thing is stronger than the predatory instincts and are relieved

“Wait, your people eat flesh? You’ve been a flesh eater this entire time??”

“Well, technically--”

“How do we know you won’t eat us?”

“I don’t how to say this, but you are actively disgusting. You look like living snot balls, and that is vile.”

“What! How rude. I’m sure we are perfectly delicious.”

“I’m getting some mixed messages here.”

Welcome twitter users fleeing the absolute cesspool that twitter is going to become as Musk gets his way with his awful ideas! Things are better here, and hey, if you're an old user coming back, they've actually improved shit!

Here's a list of important notes for tumblr usage:

Addition for the fic writers: please please please add the read more option on your post. On desktop it's the orange squiggly lines that come up when you click on the textbox.

On mobile I believe it's :: readmore :: (without spaces).

The read more option shortens your post, putting whatever you have under the read more hidden until someone clicks on it. This is super helpful for mobile users if you have a long post so they don't have to scroll forever past your thing.

I think it's kind of funny how common a trope hive minds are in science fiction like we're all super fascinated by the concept of a linked species that shares data through psychic link or whatever. But when it comes down to it it's just as likely that an alien might see us and consider us to be a linked species because we are constantly connected and we share data through vibrations in the air or in codes that are just manipulating a space so different frequencies of light can be observed against each other or in an elaborate system of movement. And we are basically always doing this and none of our complex thoughts show up on their own they are built upon by others and every piece of ourselves is influenced by the networks of other humans that share data with us. Like sure we CAN exist as an individual unit but you die if you haven't spent years getting data that teaches you how to survive like none of us can just LEAVE the hive mind right away and we only thrive when part of a communal unit. Idk maybe this is nothing but I think it's kind of cool.

A human would get trapped on an alien world and ask for help getting back to earth and the alien would go "oh no! This species becomes both psychologically and physically unwell if not networked to other members of its species! Don't worry little guy I'll get you back to your monkey hive mind"

i believe that settled humans behave more like hive insects than we do like primates, even our closest cousins.

we collect food and bring it back to a central protected area to share with non-gatherers. we specialize into castes and roles. we cooperate to build grand structures to live in together and to defend from rival hives. we tend to have specific places equipped with specialized caretakers to raise and educate our young as a collective. our constructions get increasingly geometric and regimented the bigger our hive becomes. we often use other species in the maintenance and defence of our home. and we develop ways to leave messages to each other: not just signalling directly about current situations, but marking paths, posting warnings, and indicating work to be done in the future.

other primates don’t do any of this. none of them. not even chimps, our closest cousins in the world.

but hive insects do.

settled humans are a hive species. that’s why we invent communication technology, and also why we so readily adopt it.  language, messengers, roads, signal towers, writing, mail, printing presses, newspapers, telegrams, radio, phones, the internet. each time the hive gets that much better at operating like a hive instead of a troop. we’re running bee software on monkey hardware, and it’s working really well.

reminder to:

I just would like to thank everyone who ever reblogs this so that it somehow ends up back on my dash because I usually need the reminder (especially the drinking water one)

Of all posts to see with a million notes, I’m glad it’s this one.

“WHY did that alien ambassador just call me ‘peasant’??”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s a problem with the translation software.”

“What kind of problem? Am I about to insult him by accident too? I want it to be on purpose.”

“No, it’s just that the software had trouble with root words and etymology, comparing our concepts to theirs. They don’t have a word for ‘god,’ you see, and—”

“What the blazes does that have to do with it?”

“Look. The word ‘human’ can be translated as ‘person who lives on the ground, or the dirt, or the Earth, and who isn’t a god.’”

“So how did that—”

“It turned into ‘person who lives in the dirt and has no power over others.’ The closest they had when repeating it back through the translator was ‘peasant.’”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Why do you think I’ve been pressing for everyone to actually learn the language, instead of relying on the translator?”

“Well, if I make it through this meet-and-greet without having to throw or take a punch, I might take you up on that. Stick close. If somebody says something else dumb, I’m turning to you.”

“Don’t look now; the ambassador’s coming back.”

“Great.”

anonymous submission

We did our due diligence. We spent 15 cycles trying to establish contact from orbit. If they were sentient, if they could communicate back, they would have. Everything which can, does. At least, I hope they are sentient. A sentient can be reasoned with. Negotiations can happen. I hope for the sake of all life in the galaxy that they can be reasoned with, even if we failed.

Otherwise… otherwise they must be purged. If they cannot be reasoned with, they can NEVER be allowed off their planet.

Our observation began simply enough. After failing to establish communications, we took one on board to study. The plan was to observe it for a time, then release it. We kept it in quarantine, as per procedure. I affirm this to you now, and I will do so over and over again, we did everything by the book.

After two cycles of scans we determined that it was not toxic to touch. There were traces of chemicals coating its outer layer, but they were determined to be cleaning supplies. A means of bathing, we assumed. Where they had found a naturally occurring deposit of these chemicals, we never figured out.

We gassed the chamber, flooding it with a mix of the native atmosphere, but with the balance changed. We had determined what gas it breathed to survive, and simply lowered the amount. We assumed it would enter a slumber to conserve energy.

It did not. We had to almost vacume the chamber of the creature’s gas supply, and even then it took 8 centicycles for it to collapse. It struck the walls of quarantine with its appendages the entire time. We assume it was trying to free itself.

Once it was unmoving, we restored the atmosphere. Xil'ter, our senior xenobiologist, entered in protective equipment. The hope was to gather bodily fluid samples. A syringe entered the creature, and Xil'ter made to draw life.

The syringe melted on contact. It took 1.2 cycles to find a syringe that could hold this things life, and we then learned our first lesson. The life of these things is caustic. Not by much, but enough to require special procedures.

148 cycles, multiple of rotations on the planet, later and we believed we were prepared to gather more data, more samples. We had studied it as much as our sensors could, and we desired more data. We drained it’s gas and this time it quickly collapsed. We naively thought it was shock, that it hadn’t been prepared and so had succumbed quicker. We restored it’s gas. The first error of many.

Again, Xil'ter entered and approached. This time, as they lowered to take another sample, it moved. With speed with had not considered possible for their species, one appendage launched out and secured to Xil'ter’s manipulator. With strength we had not expected, the thing threw Xil'ter onto the floor, without losing its hold. One of its supporting appendages was planted on Xil'ter’s trunk, and the thing pulled. The manipulator, the whole stalk, came free. Life oozed from the wound.

This took les than a centicycle. We could not respond fast enough.

I ordered the pacifiers in, this thing needed to be subdued. Three of them entered and expanded their stun rods. The creature fought them all at once, using Xil'ter’s stalk as a primitive club. Klimtek’s traversing stalks were shattered with a powerful swing. They screamed in pain and crawled for the door. I could not open it, not yet. Not until the creature was contained. I could only watch in horror.

Cefter attacked and finally struck true, striking the thing with their baton. It howled and rubbed at the strike wound, but this only managed to enrage the creature and it threw the improvised club at Cefter. It then followed that by ejecting some kind of ooze from its feed-hole.

We assumed it would be caustic, that, like its life, everything in its body would be. We had prepared for that, taken every reasonable precaution in case things went bad. It was not caustic. It was as acidic as its life was caustic. The ooze burned through the protective layer on Cefter and began to liquify their exoskeleton. Cefter howled.

Both the creature and Limik froze. I know Limik was terrified. A part of me worries that the thing had enough sentience to understand what it did, and take pleasure from it. Turning to Limik it repeated the action. Though Limik tried to dodge, the creature’s aim was good, and Limik began to howl as their body melted.

The creature began repeating this action, covering Limik and Cafter in the ooze. I do not know how long they suffered. I know their screams stopped after 12 centis.

It approached the door to quarantine, baring its fangs at Klimtek. Klimtek swung with what force they had remaining, but the thing didnt respond. I dont think it noticed, or perhaps it did not care.

The creature raised one of its moving stalks, and forced it down, though Klimtek’s torso. It then picked up their baton, and turned to the door. I ran to the habitat controls and lowered the temperature as far as I could. I hoped it would at least be shocked by the change. That it would slow down.

I do not think it noticed. Striking with its stalk, it managed to break open the door to quarantine. I ran.

I will not recount much of the last three rotations. It was bad enough to live it. Suffice to say, it hunted all of us, like a predator stalks its prey. It used the manipulators of its kills to bypass our security measures. It quickly identified what our cameras looked like, and destroyed each one it passed. One by one we were hunted down, and torn apart.

No matter how long it hunted, it never tired. It slept, once, but the moment we began to approach, it woke. Its knew we were coming and vanished into underbelly of the ship.

We could never find it. Once, just once, we managed to trap it in the cargo bay. The room was small, barely large enough for a full pallet of supplies. The room had long since been emptied. There was nowhere to hide. Or so we thought.

The two remaining pacifiers entered, and could not find it. For a full cycle they searched. It found them. I heard the screams over the radio as it tore them apart.

Two cycles ago I was finally able to exterminate it. I am the only remaining member of the crew of research ship alpha-9. I am not proud of what I did to kill it, bit it was, I believe, the only way.

As second in command, I had access to the subsystems of the ship. I tried everything I could conceive of: extreme shifts in the ship’s climate, changing the artificial gravity, down to zero and up to twice its planet’s normal, what we could barely stand in. I tried to evacuate the gas of its home, but even that could not stop it. The little gas that remained was enough for it. Nothing I could do mattered.

In the end, the only option left to me was to overload the engines. We could not risk it taking control of our ship, and we believed it has the intelligence to do so. Captain Klimik sacrificed their life to give engineer Jenvus and I enough time to set the self destruct sequence.

As we raced for the escape pod it found us. Klimik’s thinker was tossed at us, and it knocked Jenvus over. I was in the pod before I realized what had happened. Jenvus was fighting for their life.

I abandoned them. Fear. Cowerdice, the why doesn’t matter. I shut the door and launched. I told myself there was nothing I could do. No way to save Jenvus, and ensuring that creature didnt escape was more important.

As I flew away from the ship, I watched it explode. My only comfort is that that thing died with the ship.

I, too, will perish soon. This escape pod does not have a hyperdrive, and I am far from any port. I am drifting, alone, in blackspace.

By the time this log reaches someone, I can only hope those creatures have not escaped their planet. I still do not know what can kill them, if anything. I cannot be sure the destruction of the ship was enough, i can only hope.

If you find this, if you want what little data I was able to move to this pod, I hope it is enough to save you.

INFORMATION I WAS NOT PREPARED TO LEARN. MAYBE WE *ARE* ALONE. BECAUSE WE ARE SO *EARLY*. IF THERE IS EVER GALACTIC CIVILIZATION THEY WILL NOT REMEMBER US AT ALL. BECAUSE WE ARE NOTHING. CELLS, JUST BEGINNING TO FORM LIFE. SORRY FOR SCREAMING. BUT ARE YOU LISTENING. ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT IT.

The planet was nothing special.

Well, there were some quirks. It was carbon-based, which was mildly interesting, and Arc’s shuttle readouts told her that it was the plants that had developed photosynthesis, weirdly. The atmosphere had a massive amount of oxygen, and there was all that water, too, more than she had ever seen in one place before. And every planet was, as her trainers had told her, its own unique jewel.

But one thing they had not told her was that all the jewels started to blend together after a while, and after a little longer each one became just another assignment. So the planet was just another assignment. A little ball of water and tumbled stone and flora in a cul-de-sac of the galaxy. One more stack of paperwork for Arc to get through before she could go home to her marital partners and offspring.

Arc aimed her shuttle in the middle of one of the larger continents, away from the mountain range and near a smaller body of (oh, gosh, more) water. As she got closer to the ground, though, her shuttle readouts changed. There were irregular smudges of radiation on the surface, and chemical evidence of constructed materials. Arc squinted, and her tertiary limbs started to shiver in frustration. There were ruins down there. Nobody had told her she’d be surveying a formerly inhabited planet. Great, she thought. Now I’m never getting home.

Arc sent a note by ansible to Ecba, her dearest marital partner. A few mins later, as her shuttle settled on the ground, she got back the image of a hand-sculpted message. “My little machine,” it said, Ecba’s sweetheart-name for her, and she could see all the love that went into the lettering. “Does it have to be you?”

Arc put on her enviro-suit and got her surveying monitor. “Maybe not,” she sent. She didn’t have the same skill in sculpting that Ecba had, so she just had to trust that her love was conveyed in the digital lettering. “Wish me luck. I’ll try to come home to you all soon.”

Then she stepped out into the world.

My favorite “humans are space orcs” idea is that trope where aliens kidnap some humans for their zoo, except it ends up like Jurassic Park. And the poor Alien Humanologists who were invited to the park are like:

“You mean you locked up a pack of curious, highly competitive persistence predators with NO enrichment in the enclosure? You FOOLS! If you had bothered to throw a basketball or half a box of Legos in there, KE-X9 would still be alive!

“Well of course they climbed the retaining wall! Did you think to study their evolutionary lineage AT ALL?”

The humans would find a way to use the basketball and legos to escape. I mean one time a guy somehow escaped from a prison in Mexico without breaking any laws so his escape would be legal so honestly given enough time the Jurassic park situation is inevitable.

Jurassic Park would be awesome, but now that I think about it I also kind of love love the idea of humans as the alien zoo equivalent of those octopuses that climb out of their tanks and wander around taste-testing other exhibits or throwing sub-par shrimp at handlers. 

Like they’re totally unable to figure out what’s happening because the cameras keep going out, but every night things get moved, or stolen, exhibits are disappearing, WHAT IS GOING ON, they’ve moved facilities twice and it’s still happening, are they haunted, are the ancestors angry, WHAT IS HAPPENING!?

And then a weary humanologist is all ‘… your humans are getting out’. 

“That is impossible.” 

“They’re getting out.” 

“That enclosure is COMPLETELY SECURE.” 

“And yet somehow they’re getting out.” 

“THE HUMANS ARE NOT GETTING OUT.” 

“Oh yeah? I bet you twenty glarks they’re getting out. Stay after closing time with me and I’ll show you.” 

*next day*

“… the humans were getting out.” 

“… why did they keep going back in, then?!”

(In a deeply embarrassed mumble) “They said they weren’t going to escape until they finished their behavioural experiments. Uh. On us.”