Yes, that is a mass-produced piece of cloth, stuffing and buttons. Yes, it is identical to thousands of other items. No, you can not get the human a new mass-produced piece of cloth, stuffing and buttons to fill the same function. Only this mass-produced item can fill the function.
The function is somewhat unclear.
The mass-produced piece of clothing, stuffing and buttons must always be in a place of honor in the living quarters. The mass-produced item is not allowed to be covered with other items or fall over. That is bad for the mass-produced piece of clothing, stuffing and buttons even though it is not physically harmed. Items indicating actual honors, such as certificates or medals, can be covered or fall down. That is acceptable.
If the mass-produced piece of clothing, stuffing and buttons has unacceptably fallen on the ground where it may be inadvertently nudged with one’s mobility appendages, that is very bad and disrespectful to the item. Apologies are required, but should be directed at both item and human. The item will not reply.
The human may engage the mass-produced piece of clothing, stuffing and buttons in conversation. Most mass-produced items lack the capability to make any sound, and those that were produced with the capability are limited to prerecorded generic comments not indicative of sentience. Furthermore, the mass-produced item is incapable of any other response type, including movement, radio wave transmission, or temperature manipulation. The human will not appear to notice.
Further study is being done to determine if there is another dimension of life humans are attuned to but have not recorded in the scientific literature.
“There ARE indications that some force occasionally animates these treasured objects. Human media contain many stories of inanimate objects abruptly becoming self-aware and acting autonomously. It is possible that a small fraction of humans possess latent telekinetic or transformative abilities. It is also possible that irresponsible ancient Yiteki dropped self-replicating microdroids onto Earth at some point in its pre-civilization past, and that some of those droids have survived the toxic environment and occasionally get the opportunity to colonize and partially convert an artifact as per partially-intact programming. Further research is required to rule out this and other potential explanations for the phenomena.”
(Couldn’t resist after the above comment about what a warrior species would do if confronted with a haka.)
When the humans went to space, they took their myriad of cultures with them. As space travelers choosing to join mixed-species crews are by definition open to new experiences and cultural exchange, and given the human tendencies toward gregariousness and pack bonding through ritual, it became very common for a ship to arrive in port not only bursting with new cultural material for scholars to study but also entirely new rituals invented “for the fun of it”. Humans had a marvelous time trying to blend elements of every culture represented on board–and occasionally performances by some of their less-deadly pets–into a game or ceremony all could participate in. They were also capable of turning almost anything into an excuse to wear bizarre costumes and throw a party.
It began as a joke among the xenobiologists. Cataloguing the flora and fauna of hitherto unsurveyed life-bearing worlds is both a tedious and terrifying job. Locating the large and numerous life forms is easy, and the processes of capture and analysis provide a pleasant challenge after prolonged journeys through transwarp space. However, after the easy life comes the small, the hidden, and the potentially dangerous. There are cautionary tales galore of survey crews that let down their guards, neglected a crucial isolation step, or were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and paid with their lives as a result. The mixture of repetitive, time-consuming work and perennial anxiety can lead to all manner of untoward and crude behavior, including humor in poor taste. Crews returning from survey missions are routinely put through re-socialization training to restore their moral and ethical standards.
I’m convinced that humans have the shittiest of reputation in the Universe
(Have to reblog this because of the line on the poster “If you see a human, throw a puppy at them and RUN.” Leaving aside the danger to the puppy, the idea of “use the cute response to slow down the invading murder-apes” is hilarious. Picture aliens developing the technology to prolong the puppy phase for years on end, so they could have a human-diverter defense on hand and ready to go the moment humans found their well-concealed base. “They found us! Activate the emergency evacuation flitters and release the puppies!”)
Going off how the Humans are Space Orcs and “Humans bond with anything despite obvious danger” that annoys the rest of the alien crew, think about them being introduced to earth oceans
After all it’s common to have to always remove their human from unknown likely dangerous life forms despite constant protests and that they were only “playing”
they start to notice that their human never really speaks of their earths sea creatures, which makes sense as the humans organs aren’t equipped to survive in that environment despite being able to “swim” (it is a common theory discussed that humans could survive if given no option to otherwise as that’s what they always seem to do)
curious and nervous, a rookie of the crew, decides to ask (the veterans have learned not to ask about earth as it always ends in confusion and horror)
Only to be told that “they aren’t really sure”, in human speak this can mean many things. One is that they never looked, another is that they were honestly telling the truth.
Confused, they ask again as surely the species that does everything to fulfill their curiosity would surly know what fills 75% of their surface?
Only to be told of creatures that are the length of their ship with a jaw just as wide. Of creatures that glow to attract and trap their pray. And that there was never a pod that was created could withstand the pressure of deepest depths. Or if it could, the visual feed would always disappear within rows of jagged teeth. And that are only the stories that have been proven. There are stories of the old ages, of creatures that could drown you with the sound of their voice, of things only seen in the shadows with a glimpse of sharp teeth.
Humans don’t go in the ocean, they learn. Humans that are made of iron and steel, known to bond with anything, and a curiosity that defies all known logic don’t dare to explore the depths of their own planet.
The crew learn that the only thing to terrify their human are the creatures that lurk in the oceans of their own earth.
Everything must seem tame to them compared to the monster planet that they call home.
alright alright alright, @space-australians asked for some humans are space orcs re: adrenaline and tonight you shall receive because it’s 1:15 in the morning and my brain clearly does not believe in sleep!!!
After some time of observation, the Intergalactic Fleet happily welcomed the Terrans. While their uncontrollable pack-bonding instincts had caused some… incidents… they were mostly a boon. In dire straits, the flimsy little two-legged things proved themselves capable of surviving in any inhospitable climate and either pulling their comrades out of danger or summoning help for the danger even while suffering from their own grievous injuries.
So when Medical Chief Sylatn-Dra’xxort got to share an important dinner with a human called Commander Geralt O’Brien – a rarity, because the Fleet was generally segregated by breathing requirements and her people favored chlorine – she was very excited to pick his brain on how his species could go from “let’s put a knife on this cleaning bot and name it and promote it” to a facsimile of the Terran folk hero “Terminator” in a manner of seconds.
Thanks to the airflow manipulation technologies of the bird-like Aarkorysh people, Commander O’Brien’s voice was only slightly warped as he responded to her questions. “Well, obviously you know humans are full of hormones. When things get dire, say because of a tunnel collapse for example, there’s a hormone called adrenaline that gets released.”
Sylatn-Draxxort listened intently to O’Brien’s explanation of how this ‘adrenaline’ was in many ways a biological equivalent of a starship’s emergency lockdown mode. Terran psychologists called this state “Fight or Flight Mode” and while in such a state, a human might even be able to shrug off pain that would kill other organisms as their body was flooded with a veritable cocktail of substances that blocked pain while providing additional blood sugar to perform feats of strength that impressed even Golretzi soldiers.
“Now the problem with adrenaline is that it’s really only good for you in short bursts,” O’Brien continued, and took a sip from his glass of red liquid – another human curiosity, their fondness for substances toxic to other species with similar biology. “If a human is under that kind of stress for too long they start producing adrenaline and other stress hormones even when they’re out of danger. At that point, the constant elevated heartrate and stuff ends up becoming a medical issue.”
He smiled to himself while Sylatn-Draxxort took a few bites of her own meal. “Although on the other end of the spectrum you get adrenaline junkies who seek out that kind of reaction.”
The Medical Chief turned a few of her eyes back to look at the dark-skinned commander, who sounded fond. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, we call them adrenaline junkies. These are the people who do a lot of base jumping and crazy ski jumps and stuff.”
“Yes, I recently read about a Sergeant injuring herself ‘skiing’ on Pyrhatsdis…”
O’Brien made a face of discomfort before laughing. “Yeah, I read that too. If I remember correctly, she got out with just a little concussion and some scrapes. I’ve had worse skiing injuries than that, though it was partly just because I didn’t do the straps right.”
“And people seek out the sorts of situations that cause this physiological reaction, even though too much of said reaction causes damage to your circulatory system?”
“I know, right?”
Sylatn-Draxxort reached out one of her many arms to take a sip of the cool mercury brew she was fond of while she considered how to respond to this politely. “How strange,” she said softly.
So what if all the other alien species evolved from Prey Species? Like, humans show up on the galactic scene and everyone is weirded out by the appearance of this species with eyes on the front of their heads and binocular vision, and crazy good senses of hearing and smell compared to everyone else.
And then it hits them.
They just made first contact with a race of sapient, intelligent Apex Predators. Eventually, after the panic dies down and the other races realize that humans aren’t going to eat them, they realize how good they are under pressure. They can hear and smell things before anyone else, are capable of going days without food if they have to, weeks with very little food. Or, they can pull off these insane feats of accuracy with their binocular vision. Or smell what dinner is from three rooms away, or hear a ship’s system failure before the alarm sounds.
so the humans are space orcs posts where we can just hide emotions from our customer service skill set, why don’t we take that a step further.
What about actors, who literally train for years to act different behaviors for different roles, from good guys to bad guys. One minute the human is kind and gentle, the next he is arrogantly addressing the pirates who invaded, all from his acting days.
Their strict memorization can help them recall lines for any situation. They can cry on cue, motivate their crewmates with a well place monologues, become the life of the party with one liners and comedic sketches.
Hell this can apply to dedicated fans. The ones who try to get in character at cosplays, or memorize entire dialogues from their favorite scenes.
Really I just want someone to write alien fic where a human quotes the wallet scene from pulp fiction and just fucking terrifies them
I really want a science fiction story where aliens come to invade earth and effortlessly wipe out humanity, only to be fought off by the wildlife.
They were expecting military resistance. They weren’t counting on bears.
Imagine coming to a hostile alien world and being attacked by a horde of creatures that can weigh up to 3 tons, run at 30 km/h (19 mph), and bite with a force of 8,100 newtons (1,800 lbf).
By the time you realise that they can traverse water, it’s too late. The surviving members of your unit manage to make it back by shedding their excess gear and running for their lives; the slower ones were crushed to death within minutes.
You later describe the creature to one of the humans you captured, wanting to know the name of the monstrosity that will haunt your nightmares for cycles to come.
The human smiles as it speaks a single word, slowly and distinctly, in its barbaric tongue.
“Hippopotamus.”
This is giving me the biggest, creepiest grin I might have ever grinned
Imagine being the next crew to go down to earth and thinking “it’s fine, we got this. We have the weapons and equipment necessary to deal with bears and *shudders* hippopotamuses. We’ll be fine.”
And at first you are, you’ve learned how to dodge. You’ve learned where their territories are. You know how to defend yourself.
But then one night you are sleeping in your shelter. You’re in a tree covered temperate part of earth. It seems benign. There are been no sightings of the dreaded “hippos” around. Not even any bears. But there is a slight rustle of the undergrowth. You try and ignore it telling yourself it is just the wind.
Then you hear the rustle again. closer this time.
You peer out into the darkness but see nothing amongst the trees.
The rustle again and now you realise you can smell something. It’s musky and slightly foul. It’s the smell of an omen, a warning. But what of? Where is this smell coming from.
You sit up, but it’s too late. The foul smelling creature is on you. You are hit with 17kg of coarse fur and vicious bites. Long dark claws tear in to you and you are pinned down white the striped creature tries to bite your throat.
It takes some doing but you manage to wrestle free. Blood drips from your wounds and already they itch with the sign of infection. The creature has a bloodied snout, rust rad, mingling with the black and white hairs. It lets out a terrifying growl from the back of its throat and looks to attack again. It’s between you and your knife, so your only choice is to back away.
Eventually the creature gives up and snuffles off in to the undergrowth, down a hole near your shelter you hadn’t noticed before.
When you make it back to your base you once again consult the captive human.
“Badger.” they say, with a solemn nod.
One word: Moose
“Our vehicles are far superior to the local human models, in range, speed, armament, and any other metric you care to name! Nothing could possibly-”
BAMrumblerumblethumpcrash!!!
“That’s called a moose.”
Wolverines.
Also.. dolphins.
The invasion is going slowly. The humans have caught on and are actively destroying information on the planet’s flora and fauna before Intelligence can capture and process it. All that they have are survivors’ accounts. Bears. Hippos. Badgers. Moose. It is becoming obvious this mudball planet is a full-on Death World to the unprepared, and you are so very unprepared.
You lost Jaxurn to a plant. Not even a mobile or carnivorous plant, just one that caused a vicious allergic reaction on contact that killed him in less than a rai’kor. Commander Vura’ko died to an insect bite, a tiny local pest that sucked a tiny bit of her blood and apparently replaced it with a bit of its last meal, which was full of disease. Backwash. She died to bug backwash. And yet you honestly envy them after that… thing you encountered…
When you got back to base the quarantine officer refused to let you inside. They had to roll a containment tank outside to put you in, because you all knew there would be no chance of eliminating the smell if it got into the ship’s air ducts. Smell. You wonder if your nasal slit will ever recover from this stench.
And the smell would. Not. Leave. After incinerating your gear the Q.O. had you use every cleansing agent they could think of, including a few janitorial ones, and still everyone fled the stench if they were downwind of your tank. Desperate to protect everyone’s nasal slits from the smell the quarantine officer interrogated the humans. From them, a glimmer of hope: there was a cure. Somehow the juice of a certain fruit on this mudball was the only thing that could break up the chemicals in the little horror’s spray. Immediately the Q.O. sent a team to recover buckets of the stuff and made you bathe in it. That was hours ago and it didn’t seem to be working, though. All it was doing was turning your blue skin an interesting shade of purple.
Sighing in frustration you wave the med-assist on duty over, who only approaches after checking the wind direction. Annoyed, you flip on the tank`s vox speaker.
“The humans did say it was “grape” juice that removed “skunk” stench, right?“
Every night.
It came for someone almost every night.
Any soldier alone was a viable target for this native monster that moved unseen by any but the security viewers, usually only spotted in hindsight. They were taken as silently as this earth-monster moved. Sometimes they’d find the remains in the morning taken up a tree and hung there, mostly eaten, as if it were a grisly reminder that the monster was still there, waiting unseen, to strike again.
What little they saw of the monster on the vidfeed showed true horror. Yellow eyes that shone with all the light it could gather. It had fangs as long as his grasping digits. Claws half that size formed curved hooks that allowed it to climb up their fortifications with impunity. And in the underbrush, its spots made it almost impossible to see clearly in the undergrowth, if it could be seen at all.
Even the native sentients, the humans, had a healthy respect and fear for it.
The earth natives called the monster a leopard.
It was a constant fear that muddied the senses, and let the monster hunt even more effectively as the soldiers were always on edge. Sleep deprived with fear, it made them even better targets for the monster.
But rumor was that there was worse on this planet. Rumors of a monster like a leopard but larger, and bigger in every imaginable sense. Stripped instead of spotted, which leaped from the underbrush with a sound.
A sound that burst eardrums, paralyzed entire units, and let the monster kill with impunity. While the Leopard wrestled soldiers down and ripped their throats out. This other monster, the Tiger, killed with its pounce alone.
“We’ve been through this,” Group Leader 455 snapped. “The dissection of an Earth life form will help the scientists make weapons to combat the rest of this planet’s hellbeasts. And these are domesticated. Harmless.”
The troops were not-quite-looking at her in the way troops do when they don’t want to be seen to contradict a ranking officer, but can’t quite muster a correct Expression of Enthusiastic Assent. “The name of this species,” she pointed out, “is synonymous with dullness and slowness in the language of the Earth barbarians.” Well, one language out of several thousand—these creatures needed Imperial guidance more than any other world on record—but there was no point in confusing the rank and file.
More not-quite-looking. 455 bubbled a sigh and consulted her scanner. “That one,” she decided. “Alone in the separate pasture. Scans suggest that it’s a male, which means it’s probably weaker. Possibly it’s kept isolated so that the females don’t eat it before mating season. And yes, I know some of you are here on punishment detail, but you’re still soldiers of the Imperium. This squad is perfectly capable of handling a lone, helpless, pathetic male cow.”
I’m enjoying this immensely. Wait until the aliens try Australia for size…
It was a strange creature Tar’van glimpsed at on the vast island known to the humans as ‘Australia’.
“I would warn you not to fuck with us, mate.” Their forced guide, a prisioner, had warned with a chilling grin upon capture. “If you think a moose is bad, wait until you tango with a red back.” To this day Tar’van fears the creature known as the red back, and what horrors it would bring.
The prisioner turned out to be of little help,the stubboness of his people causing them to refuse the danger that the captured human warned of. Tar’van recalls a moment when one of his squad members approached a creature know as a dingo, insistent they had seen these creatures before and they were tame. They barely escaped with 5 of the original 7 members of his squad.
Another moment Tar’van recalls was the brutal mauling they witnessed by the hands of a creature called an ‘Emu’
“Don’t feel too bad,” the prisioner mocked. “We lost a war to the Emu’s as well.”
Now with only 4 members of their squad left, including themself, Tar’van had learned to listen to the prisoner, to be wary of the simplest of creatures. This human was of the sub-species of ‘Zookeeper’ after all.
The ‘Zookeeper’ looks off to the distance, where the creature is.
“It’s a kangaroo, leave it be and you’ll be fine.” Tar’van nods, a human signal of acknowledgement if they are correct. The human smiles a bit.
“That creature cannot possibly harm us.” Tar’van’s squadleader protests. “It is so docile. I will aproach it and bring back it’s head to show this human is a fearmongering liar.”
The human reels back, a look of disgust crosses their face and anger passes through their eyes.
“Fucking do it mate, I dare ya.” The human hisses. The squad leader puffs up their hoinn gland, a sign of pride to their species, and aproached the so called ‘Kangaroo’.
“This will be unpleasant.” A squadmate mutters as they watch their leader raise their fist and bring it down on the creature. The ‘Kangaroo’ looks a little stunned by the impact, before it raises itself upon its strong tail and uses its powerful heind legs to launch their squadleader backwards through the air.
Their squadleader lands upon the ground, unmoving with black blooded oozeing from them. It appears Tar’van is the squads leader now.
“I don’t know what they expected.” the human says, smugness filling their tone. “Kangaroos are fucking shreaded. 8-pack and all.”
Tar’van steps forward to the human, whom inches back in a sign of fear as Tar’van pulls their blade from its holster, and in their first act as leader, frees the human of the bonds around their hands.
“Please,” Tar’van bags. “Get us back safely.”
@kryallaorchid, you guys really lost a war to emus? Why was it necessary?
oh, mate, you never mess with the emus.
(Jesus christ. Dont get us started on kangaroos)
They had faced Emu’s. They had lost one in the battle but had experienced them. But this was no emu.
Looking to their guide, they all stare in horror as his face changes from calculating to fear. Pure, heart consuming horror as he stares at the large bird. “Cassowary…” They mimic him in fear. Squawking the horrific name as another joins the first in the mad run towards them.
The only ones to survive was the native guide and Tar’van. The guide was carrying the soldier over his shoulder as they made their way back to the settlement. Tar’van was a wreck. Periodically alternating between rocking in complete silence and whispering broken words in horror. When they consulted the native all he said was “Its spring…. Magpie season…”
“Listen up, troops. This armour upgrade has been tested both in the laboratories of the best Imperial military scientists and in the field. We are impervious to the stings of any insect on this hellhole of a planet, striped or not! We can brave the perils of its wildlife, and conquer it at long last! Revenge for our fallen companions! Glory to the Emperor!”
“Excuse me,” the native Terran guide speaks up in a tired tone, and the squad’s cheers die on their lips. “This is Japan. You haven’t seen what–”
“Silence, worm! No sting can penetrate this plating!”
The guide tries to warn them once again, merely earning a blow that throws them to their knees. The troops set out, morale high, certain in their ability to brave the wildlife now and thirsting for vengeance against the non-sentient native species. One soldier thumps his fist against a tree. A hollow sound follows.
In an instant, the soldier is the centre of a storm of the striped insects. At first, no one pays it any mind. Their little stings cannot penetrate the new plating, after all.
But then the soldier falls to his knees, and the squad stares in horror as the insects enclose him in layer upon layer of their own bodies, all moving. The squad’s medic yells a warning at everyone to stay back, watching the readouts of the unfortunate soldier’s armour on their diagnostic screen with undisguised horror. The insects aren’t even stinging. They simply keep moving, one atop the other, and the soldier’s body temperature is slowly rising until he drops to the ground, quite literally cooked alive. The insect swarm takes off, unharmed save for the ones that were crushed when the trooper fell.
Finally asked about what happened, the human sighs. “Japanese honeybees. They do this to wasps, too.”
“How?” You ask. “How has your species dominated this planet?”
The human bares its teeth. A smile, they call it. Something humans do when they are happy. Yet you can’t help but think of all the creatures with the their large fangs and sharp teeth. (What kind of species uses a threat signal as a sign of happiness?)
“Persistence and ingenuity.” The human answers, still smiling.
It doesn’t matter that this one is your prisoner. Humans, you decide, are as terrifying as their planet.
“And scattered about it … were the Martians–dead!–slain by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red weed was being slain; slain, after all man’s devices had failed, by the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, had put upon this earth.”
– HG Wells, The War of the Worlds,1898
I’m picturing aliens going up against a hoard of Canadian geese, or a swan.
I think at that point they’d just give up.
Or fire ants
No one even MENTIONED snakes yet…
This thing gets better EVERY FUCKING TIME I SEE IT.
“Let us try the creatures that the humans keep for domestic companionship”
“Is that a miniature tiger?”
“Why does this human own a small pack of wolves?”
The aliens ask their human captive why small wolves live with them.
“Oh, you mean dogs? Yeah, they’re the only animals that can keep up with us.”
The aliens look at each other in fear. “What do you mean?”
“Oh well that’s why you guys ‘won’ is because humans aren’t super fast or strong. I think my middle school biology teacher called us pursuit predators? It means we evolved to hunt things by following them at walking pace until they had to stop to sleep and then catching up to them then. Dogs are the only animals that can keep up with us. Did you know one time a pack of wolves tailed a herd of caribou for three days straight?”
“Uh… okay, what about these small round things with big teeth?”
“Omg dude no if you give a hamster enought time that little fucker can chew through concrete :)”
The aliens wonder if the surrender of humanity was a trap.
Somebody do sharks or sea creatures next. Giant squids would wreak havoc on their ships.
The aliens have sophisticated technology which pretty much allows them to live underwater, which is something even the inventive humans have never managed. Submarines have nothing on alien submersion pods, which can withstand the crushing pressures of even the darkest depths of the oceans and seas.
The aliens aren’t expecting any difficulties with their underwater expeditions. Of course, that’s when four of the life signs on the central screen simply vanish, like they’d never been there.
Alpha turns on the direct communication lines to the remaining submersion pods, and the only thing they hear through the tinny speakers is screaming.
Alpha resists the urge to turn and stare at the shackled human standing behind them, but Beta, Gamma and Theta have no such compunctions.
The human shrugs. “I mean, we’ve never really been down there so we’re not entire sure, but we’ve heard stories of giant squids and stuff. No smoke without fire, and all that.”
“There can be neither smoke nor fire underwater, human, cease your prattling.”
The human snorts. “It’s a phrase. A metaphor? Man, I don’t know, I studied marine biology, not literature.”
The human is unable to tell them anything useful about what might have happened to the submersion pods, but retrieved footage later shows tentacled behemoths snaking out of the depths of disturbed silt and cold water, and crushing the submersion pods effortlessly, in full view of the outer-hull cameras. The monsters have giant beaks which rip through the organic alloy sheets, and into the bodies of the pod pilots within.
The outer-hull cameras register the blue of fresh spilled blood and gore, at the same time the on-board cameras register screaming and the red glow of critical power failure.
The last thing the aliens can see on the retrieved footage is thin, long, snakelike creatures appearing out of the darkness and gloom, creating their own light and descending upon the remains of their brethren. They are accompanied by creatures that look like plastic bags, but which feed upon the toxic remains of the organic alloy of which the pods were made.
The human appears completely nonchalant – there is no love lost between slave and master. “Wait till you see sharks.”
I’ve seen this post go around a few times, but this time I have some thoughts: 1) This is more or less the plot of Animorphs.
2) Earth has Poison Dart Frogs, we’re clearly a Death World.
3) I’m now imagining them deciding to set up a base on the poles, because life on this planet is clearly dependant on plants. So, that frozen wasteland should be safe of any dangerous megafauna. Cue Polar Bear out of nowhere.
“Earth is a Death World” stories are some of my most favorite things!!!!!
Someone please do spiders! Teeny tiny creatures that can keep still for hours pretending to not exist until “something” comes within reach 😉
just moving along like everyone else 