jpitha

[jpitha]

With Friends Like These...

The alarm startled N’ren. It had a mechanical, animalistic howl which hurt her ears. It was so loud, that she could feel the deck plates vibrate under her feet, tingling with noise. As she looked around, she could tell that it bothered the humans too, but other than a small flinch when it went off, it seemed to energize them. They all got more focused, more serious and moved faster.

The trip had been a whirlwind of sights, sounds, smells, and other sensations. N’ren Kitani, as the ranking officer of the Mel’itim - The Discoverers - was selected by the Captain to go over to the human ship and meet them. The fact that she was part of the secret police, and if she were… killed by human treachery it would not be considered that much of a loss to the crew was not lost on N’ren, but as much as she disliked the taste of that thought, she had to admit it did make sense. She had more training on body language and politics than anyone else aboard. Even if she didn’t know the details of the human’s political situation, she - probably - could see the larger picture easier than anyone.

She needn’t have worried about any human treachery. They had been more than accommodating to her and her needs, and everyone was fascinated by her presence. She knew that they were merely curious, but their close set eyes following her as she was given a tour of the ship was unsettling.

Menium - the K'laxi ship - had been in contact with the human’s own ship AI - called Longview - and between the two of them they had worked out a rough translation of the two sapient’s languages. Their language was an unintelligible garble of sounds and phonemes to N’ren, but Menium was an excellent translator, and she had managed to understand and be understood.

They had invited her to a meal and while she attended to gathering gladly, she didn’t eat anything. Not only was eating unknown food from a new group of sapients she had just met madness, Menium had warned her that some ingredients the humans used was toxic.

After the meal, N’ren had explained the war with the Xenni, how they were trying to expand their territory, and how - without some help - the war would last for decades at best, and be over quickly with the K’laxi being subjugated by the Xenni at worst. Three K’laxi border colonies had already been captured, and a dozen deep space stations had been destroyed outright. Almost exactly as she finished explaining the war, the Xenni came through the system gate and the humans’ long range sensors had detected the missile launches. N’ren had warned that they tend to go after ships with their energy weapons after the missile launches, and sure enough everyone aboard Longview heard the thunderclap report of the energy weapons ablating part of the Starjumper’s thick hull.

N’ren knew that the discovery of the humans, with their gigantic starships and wormhole generators was exactly what the K’laxi needed to turn the tide of the war. She needed to get back and report this new race to Fleet Command.

She was jolted back to reality by a human shouting at her in that staccato language they had, full of fricatives and harsh consonants. Menium spoke to her as the translator and she was able to get a sanitized and generalized version of what they actually said. N’ren didn’t think Menium needed to do the voices for different people though. Still, the point got across. It was time for her to go. Now.

“Leave? But, the checks aren't finished! Does my Captain know? She’ll need to make preparations.” N'ren said, worried.

"No. No time. Go Now. Your ship talked to our ship. They figured it out." The human was hurriedly putting on an armored pressure suit while talking to N'ren.

<Human Francine is right N'ren.> Menium said - in their regular voice - through the comm. <Longview and I have worked out the details and I know - mostly - how to operate their wormhole generator. Can you believe they’re actually giving us their own FTL drive? The Mel’itim command’s fur is going to puff out to twice it’s size when they see it.>

<Mostly operate it?> N’ren said back to Menium, worried. <Is it dangerous?>

<Is it more dangerous than getting captured or destroyed by the Xenni?> They countered. <No. Is it more dangerous than taking the Gates? Most assuredly.>

<Do we have the power to operate it?>

<They have given us enough batteries to run it once, and we should be able to "link" back to K'lax direct! Longview explained how their coordinate system works, I can get us into our system. N’ren, this is amazing. I'm talking to an AI from a sapient group that has never made contact! This is so fascinating!>

<Wait, never made contact?> N’ren hadn’t had time to speak to the humans about the other sapient groups they knew, but she had assumed they had met someone.

<From what Longview told me, we’re the first sapient group they’ve met. You would not believe how surprised they were when the Gate activated and we came in.>

While N'ren put on her pressure suit - unfortunately not armored like the humans' - she wondered why Menium sounded so excited. They had never exhibited this kind of behavior before. It was more like she was talking with a person instead of the flat, matter of fact speech of a ship.

As she tightened the last ring on her gloves, she felt, rather than heard the strikes. Huge booming thumps along the bottom of the human ship and suddenly her suit shrieked that the pressure was dropping rapidly. Her large inner ears along with her prehensile tail gave her a better sense of balance than the humans; she was able to feel Longview start to rotate along it's axis.

"What's going on?" she asked Francine, the human that had been helping her thus far.

"Longview's rolling to keep your ship out of the firing line." Francine said, though Menium’s translation. "Longview's a big, old ship, she can take it" she said, and grinned through her helmet.

“Old? How old is Longview?”

Francine stood up and stared off into nothing for a moment. “She must be at least two thousand years old at this point.” She said and moved her head up and down vertically, once. “Yes, about two thousand years old."

Two thousand- <Menium, is that a translation error?>

<Not as far as I am able to figure out, N’ren, she said two thousand years. Even if our years and theirs are vastly different, Longview is still at least ten times older than any of our ships.>

Another brace of explosions rippled down the hull, knocking everyone off balance. Francine put her hand on N'ren's shoulder and pushed. "Go. Now." There was another explosion, this one larger. "RUN.”

As N'ren ran down the halls of the Longview, Menium reminded her to run on the right side of the hall as humans - all in pressure suits - ran with purpose around her. She noticed that more than a few humans were carrying weapons. <Why the weapons?> N'ren asked her ship.

<They're preparing to be boarded.> Menium said.

<What? The Xenni don't do that!>

<The Humans do, apparently.>

The idea of humans forcibly docking with an enemy ship and pouring in, attacking gave N’ren chills. She made a mental note to report this to the Mel’itim.

N'ren made it to the umbilical that connected the two ships. There was a group of humans bustling around the docking room, checking settings and tossing crates through the umbilical towards Menium. A human engineer noticed her arrival and waver her over. “N’ren, your ship is ready. Our ship taught your ship how to work the wormhole generator and we're ready to set you off and escape.” He gestured towards the umbilical as he spoke. “We're going to push you with the docking arms, so don't hesitate to fire your main drive. Our hull is thick, your drive exhaust will be barely a summer breeze to us, we'll be fine." He grinned and stepped back.

<Do you know what he means?>

<I do, and I told the Captain. She’s skeptical, but is willing to do it.>

“What about you? What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Oh, Longview is very old. She was a Starjumper before we developed wormhole generators. She’s practically more engine that ship. We'll turn our Stardrive on them as they come around. No worries!"

What did that mean? She wondered. Aloud she said “Sorry, I meant your wormhole generator. Aren't we taking it?"

Impossibly, the engineer grinned harder. "Oh, no we bottled a message and used the generator to link a beacon back to human space. Someone will come and bring us a new generator in a week or two. We'll be fine."

More explosions wracked the ship. The engineers grin fell as the ship began to vibrate worryingly. "Go. We'll be fine, but if you hold up much longer there won't be any ship left!” He clapped her suited shoulder and gently directed her towards her ship. “I’m glad we met. Go and tell your people."

****

Back on the command deck of Longview, the ship was relaying information to Captain Erlatan.

"Captain, Menium has been pushed away, and they're boosting away from us at their full speed. A small group of attacking ships has peeled off and is giving chase."

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, and Menium was gone.

“It looks like Menium figured out the wormhole generator." Captain Erlatan said. "Excellent. Longview, shall we shake off our attackers?"

"With pleasure, Captain. Permission to engage War Emergency Power and thrust at 6 gees for 3 minutes?"

"Permission granted. I authorize you to use War Emergency Power. In the case I am incapacitated you are free to make your own decisions to continue the mission, save the crew, and save your own life in that order. Acknowledge."

“Acknowledged, Captain. War Emergency Power engaged. Fuses and limiters removed. We can operate at WEP for eighty three minutes before permanent damage occurs.”

If someone was watching the battle from a great distance, they would see Longview begin to rotate along the axes of the massive flywheels deep in the center of the ship. N’ren didn’t even get to see them in the tour. The humans were friendly and accommodating, but they knew that everything they showed her would get reported back. No need to give away all their secrets.

Longview oriented itself until the rear of the ship was facing the swarming Xenni ships. Thinking they were turning to run, the Xenni pressed their attack, and grouped together to concentrate their fire. When they were a few dozen kilometers away, Longview lit its old relativistic Stardrive and a jet of pure white, kilometers long, shot out the back as the ship thrust away at a withering six gees. Everyone on board was secured in acceleration couches or command chairs and while it was very unpleasant, it was over soon enough.

Moving too quickly to dodge the jet of pure physics, the Xenni ships were destroyed the instant the torch of exhaust played over their hulls. None survived to report the incident back to the Xenni Consortium.

I bet you thought I forgot about you! I'm still around, I'm still writing, though you'll probably see my stuff more on Royal Road or Reddit these days. I'll still post here when I can though. This is a major re-work of a very old story of mine, and I'm planning on expanding it out into a full length novel about first contact between the humans and k'laxi.

[jpitha]

Hello Dr. Tingle, sir. I have a question. Do you ever begin to doubt yourself while writing? I've been writing stuff myself but sometimes get this sadness that makes me think it's not good enough writing. And I'm not sure how to work around that sadness. Do you ever have to? How do you do it? Thank you, I hope your day is as wonderful as you!

as far as a trot of 'is this part of my book is as effective as it could be?' or 'is this character working the way i want them to?' then yes i have doubts about this type of thing while building stories. i think that is essentially was the CRAFT of art is

but as far as a broader existential sort of 'i doubt myself as an artist' then no, absolutely not. i am the worlds greatest author. this is not a joke and it is not something i kinda think maybe could be true or i am pretty sure about, this is something i know with absolute certainty.

ART and creation are not objective, they are subjective. i AM the worlds greatest author and guess what bud, SO ARE YOU. the hurdle we must all overcome as creators is not talent, it is the hurdle of UNDERSTANDING. we already are all the worlds greatest authors, and everything else that claims we are not is a distraction

ignore the bog of hands reaching out to pull you down into this feeling of worthlessness, they are fake. they are an illusion. the only truth is that we are ALL the greatest, and the real journey is simply an internal one where we finally arrive at knowing this

[jpitha]

If you ask me, the coolest kind of machines are the ones that shouldn't exist. Capitalism is all about making sure that you only get something if a bunch of other people also want it. And for those of us who are particularly niche weirdos by nature or necessity, we're forced to go into our metaphorical basements and emerge with some homemade nightmare tool to solve our exact problem.

Sometimes it's a tool that I want badly, but can't afford, and I spend a couple afternoons looking longingly at pictures while copying them down. Other times, it's something that has never been created before, but solves my exact problem. Want to punch a bigger hole in the middle of tiny wheels because your ass is too lazy to go to the store and get the right axle? You could use a drill press, or you could make an ordeal out of it. Bonus project, bonus project! Oh boy!

Folks who come to my shop will invariably see the big box on the counter marked "tools, weird." They'll root through it a bit, and the brave ones will even put on the welding gloves and reach right in there to pull whatever not-even-deburred piece of junk I have made. Once in a while, lightning strikes. They look at this horrible abomination that was brought into the world by my thought and deed, and they realize "holy fuck, I could use one of these too."

No second one will be forthcoming, though. I'm not in business making tools or anything. If they really want it, they can just have it, and if that problem ever turns up again, I'll make a whole new one for myself. Bonus project!

[jpitha]

tbh if someone just handed me a pressure washer and set me loose in the streets i would go into a trance and just start hosing shit down indiscriminately. it's not a question of how much i could clean, but how long until i get hit by a car and die

[jpitha]

That Time When I Tried To Bring A Foot Long Knife In My Cabin Bag On An International Flight

You know flights. For at least a few generations already we have had a privilege of travelling through air, which is statistically one of the safest means of transportation, but when shit goes wrong, it goes wrong in a particularly spectacular manner and being the dumb fucks we humans are, spectacular failures (such as acts of terror) register as more plausible ones in our stupid monkey brains. This is a digression, but, as the title of the post suggests, not an untangential one.

In any case, there used to be a time in my life when international flying was just a regular thing for me, getting on a plane and immediatelly getting some monday-morning shut-eye even before the take-off to teleport a few thousand kilometers away was just a fact of life. Two of my russian-speaking (but also fluent in my mother tongue) team mates doing some contract backend web development for a foreign fintech startup with me as a "team lead" (in quotes, because we have always been egalitarian) were as accustomed to flying as I was. Security checkpoint, it seemed at that time, was something we knew intimately, not necessarily to the point when we referred to the agents by their first names, but rather we knew which shoes are going to have to come off and the exact amount of change to trigger the metal detector. It was, as we all understood it, a dog-and-pony show in a post 9/11 security theater where water in your belly was qualitatively different from the water in an unopened bottle, which is technically true, but it never even made anyone feel safer as a passenger or less safe as a potential criminal (like my white ass getting "randomly checked" five times in a row for "traces of explosives"); it usually went as a well-choreographed routine of retrieving a laptop from an easily-accessible part of your backpack, unbuckling your belt, taking off your coat, putting clothes, backpack and electronics into separate trays and proceeding to walz through the SCARY GATE in a steady pace all the while smiling in a friendly manner to the agents, maintaining Just Enough eye contact to establish connection but not come off as challenging and refraining yourself from making any meta commentary throughout the whole ordeal.

Easy.

Imagine yourself in my shoes when my backpack comes out of the x-ray about 1.25 seconds later than usual. There's a warning light going off silently at the back of my head as I wait for my belt to come back to me so my pant's don't slip off my fat white ass as much, getting brigher and turning into a bangbang double exclamation mark emoji and starting to emit avionic warning sound as the security agent pulls the tray with my backpack aside.

"Sir is this your bag?"

"Yes, it is"

"It seems you have a knife in there"

At this point I am more amused than perplexed.

"Yes, that is true," - I say smiling incredulously - "but it never caused any trouble anywhere."

I'm thinking about my trusty pocket victorinox (with scissors that are incredibly good for trimming my nails on the go) attached to my RSA OTP generator.

"Oh." - the female agent replies dryly, putting the vynil gloves on - "may I please open your bag, sir?"

"Sure!" - "May I retrieve The Object, sir?" - "Please go ahead".

And I watch, with increasing horror, my eyes widening, as I see the very remotely familiar handle that stirs something in the depths of my memory, the blade emerging in slow motion and going oh-so-slowly to what seems like forever until the whole footlong thing is out, pinched between two fingers of the agent who looks at me as memories of a town several hundred kilometers away rush back to me: the hunger, the yearning, the NEED for a simple kielbasa-and-bun sandwitch, both kielbasa and a freshly baked bun in my hands in a middle of a shop with no way to cut neither kielbasa nor the bun and the footlong steel monstrocity being the only possible option of instruments capable of cutting. Did I unpack my bag or I simply throw it aside when I got home is a question with an answer so obvious it immediately unasks itself.

"Sir?" - a female voice brings me back to here-now. - "I said, shall I discard of it, sir?"

I struggle for a moment to regain control of my motor function and nod. I think my mouth is slightly agape and I have no control of my vocal cords. A single enlongated vowel escapes my throat.

"Thank you" - she says, handing my backpack over to me. My colleagues also stand frozen, their eyes wide in disbelief. - "You may proceed, sir"

"T-thank you" - I stutter as I shuffle away with my backpack in one hand and my belt which I retrieved just prior to the whole incident in another, pretty sure I've gotten damn lucky once again.

I never bought another trio of bun, kielbasa and a big fuckoff knife abroad again.

[jpitha]

In recent years, there have been a lot of arguments about the nature of objective truth. Because it's so easy and fun to lie, people do it a lot. Sometimes, people do it so much that other people find it hard to understand what "lies" are anymore. Then they start lying to themselves. Science was supposed to fix this, but it turns out that science is not very good at being as entertaining as the liars. That's why we invented fiction.

In case you're unfamiliar with the concept, head on down to your local library. Then, ask the librarian to take you to the section that's full of lies. Yep, that's right: the fiction section is books about things that didn't happen. They're not real. Even if there's real people in this book, the things they're doing are fake. You can finish the book, and not call the cops afterward because you have a hot tip on "the Little Red Riding Hood murders." She killed that wolf in self-defence, anyway, even if it was execution-style at point blank range.

Now that you know there's a convenient place to go get entertaining lies from, you can be more suspicious about everything else you read. See a news article that made you hyper mad about something that you don't really understand? You just checked out like thirty books and you gotta finish them all before you have to give them back to the library. No time to be mad, only time to discover what really happened to that band of intrepid British teenagers who travelled to the Tomb of the Underdeep in order to liberate Milton Friedman's bejewelled skull. Crooked politicians won't be able to send you text messages about child-eating foreigners while you're busy reading, and you'll probably cancel family dinner with your more reactionary parents in order to dive into a murder mystery, too.

Through constant exposure to low-grade, non-threatening lies, you will become resistant to them being shoved down your throat in the future. Like a magic potion of resistance; what boring people would call a "vaccine." Of course, you can always go read the non-fiction section if you want to keep track of the world around you. Why would you, though? It's much more fun to read about dragons than penguins.

[jpitha]

"Do you want garlic bread?" Fuck yes, you idiot. I have never wanted anything more than garlic bread. If it were feasible I would consume only garlic bread until the authorities came to scrape my delicious smelling corpse off the futon.

Ever since the collapse of Western civilization, I've been coming to Olive Garden a lot more frequently. And not all of it is because I'm being forced to, despite what the haters have to say. Yes, it is pretty weird that they're the only restaurant that survived the initial nuclear strike. I think it's because this used to be a Pizza Hut, and the hatlike shape of the roof bounces all the horrible death stuff back out into space. They've also got a lead-lined bunker under the restaurant full of a century's worth of frozen garlic bread. There's a sign at the entrance saying not to ask too many questions about it.

Sure, payment is kind of expensive, because the whole financial system took it in the pooper, too. Money is worthless. Luckily, I'm a pretty handy guy, and I can fix vent hoods, ovens, coffee makers, and up-armoured, modified muscle cars in case someone wants to drive the Wastes. In fact, the only thing I can't fix is microwaves. If you need another one of those, you're just going to have to head to the Wal-Mart on route 6 and fight off whatever radioactive hellspawn live there now.

Sorry, hold on. The waiter is coming back. What do you mean, you can't "reheat" the garlic bread? I thought you were doing this shit in the regular oven. You're telling me this sumptuous texture, this pillowy softness, is from a microwave? You fool. There was garlic bread enough for us both! It's not fair!

[jpitha]

I must not reply. Replying is the mind killer. Replying is the little death that brings total annihilation. I will let people have their wrong opinions. And I will permit people to comment them on my posts. Their wrongness will pass over me and through me. When it is gone only I will remain. And I will not reply.

[jpitha]

Hi Friends!

Remember my second book, Dreams of Hyacinth? The one with Nick and Eastern? The one I quit doing because I had no idea how to end it? Well I figured out how to end it and have been rewriting it, and now I'm posting it to Royal Road! You can check it out here!

I also commissioned way cool cover art, check it out!

[jpitha]

Oh No! The paperback version got rejected - I think - because I used Zalgo text when Melody did her Space Magic.

ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪ'ʟʟ ᴜꜱᴇ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘꜱ ɪɴꜱᴛᴇᴀᴅ. ɪᴛ ʟᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢʀᴀᴠɪᴛᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏ

Hey Everyone! I'm super proud to announce that my book that got its start on Tumblr, and wouldn't be where it is today without you, Just A Little Further is now available for preorder on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DZTDNKF8

That's the ebook link, and if you have Kindle Unlimited, it'll be free! I have the paperback version coming soon, and I'll link that as soon as it's available.

I'm excited to show it to you and give you a chance to read it!

[jpitha]

Hey Everyone! I'm super proud to announce that my book that got its start on Tumblr, and wouldn't be where it is today without you, Just A Little Further is now available for preorder on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DZTDNKF8

That's the ebook link, and if you have Kindle Unlimited, it'll be free! I have the paperback version coming soon, and I'll link that as soon as it's available.

I'm excited to show it to you and give you a chance to read it!

[jpitha]

They don't tell you anything about how to disassemble the starships. Couple years ago, I was hanging out in my backyard when this thing came out of the sky. Big smash, wreckage everywhere, lots of smelly gross stuff all over my lawn. Government came. Then bigger government. Then the biggest government. Turns out the smelly gross stuff was what was left of the aliens who were piloting it. Sorry if you're eating alien stew right now.

Anyway, they took all the wreckage with them, and left me with a giant hole in my yard. That's where my attorney came in. Let me tell you about my attorney. Have you ever been hyperfocused on something to a degree that people just let you get away with it, because it was easier than trying to fight you? Max is like that with the law. He went after the government for the damage to my fence, and accidentally found out that whatever agency took the wreckage away didn't take out the correct permit to do so. So they had to return the wrecked alien spaceship, and also write me a little letter of apology. That's it over there, on the fridge. They welched on the fence money, though. City hall, what are you gonna do?

Now I had a space ship in my backyard, and I needed to figure out how to take it apart. Normally, this is not a big problem, but I couldn't even identify the kind of screws those little green bastards had used. I went to the library to look for a service manual for the thing, and found a Starship Technical Manual. Perfect, I thought, until I got home and found out it's just full of shit from Star Trek. Didn't even contain any useful information about disassembling the spaceships, and the end of every chapter says "installation is the reverse of assembly." Fuck you, asshole. I just wanted to know what size wrench to use to remove dilithium crystals.

For me, my primary motivation is spite, and I was now feeling quite spiteful indeed about all the bastards who didn't want me to open up this cool-ass space ship. Through a combination of bottle jacks, oxy-acetylene cutters, and one of those little packages of plastic tools that the mall sells to remove the screen on your iPhone, I was in. Unfortunately, all that I had gotten for my hard work was more hammered alien corpse over every available surface. Even their batteries didn't plug into any of my stuff. I stuck that shit right back on eBay. Had to pay for my fence.

[jpitha]

Simple Solutions

There were many reasons Zil hated working on a human ship. They hated how everyone went into one big room to eat. Consuming calories for life was a private thing for the Xerilan; an unfortunate side effect of life that was better done out of sight of everyone. The humans did it all together, all sound and smells and noise. Going into the canteen at lunchtime was an assault on their senses.

They hated how the deck plates felt. Xerilan ships used a polymer covering for the floors, nice, soft, quiet. The humans used whatever alloy of iron they acquired from the lowest bidder. It was cold, and loud, and hurt their heels when they walked.

But, what they hated the most were the alarms.

Human alarms were loud, brash, violent affairs. Lights would flash, horns would honk, and some even added elements of vibration. When asked, the humans told them they wanted to make sure that everyone reacted to the alarm. Zil practically went catatonic at the noise. They received special training before taking their post on the human ship and still they had to fight the urge to roll into a ball every time the alarm sounded, and it sounded a lot.

There were alarms for battle - which was fortunately infrequent - alarms when the reactors ramped up, alarms for when they would need to secure for maneuvering, for when gravity was going to change. Zil was almost sure they heard an alarm for the start of a new day.

Zil was leaving his quarters, heading down to the greenhouse to begin his shift when the alarm sounded. This time, the alarm was different. Even they had to admit this one worried them. It sounded dangerous. It was high and trilling with a mid range warbling and even a brassy low range which made their own sounding plates vibrate unpleasantly. As soon as it started, literally everyone dropped what they were doing - some literally - and began to run.

It was the fire alarm.

As much as Zil hated all the human alarms, they at least understood why the fire alarm was so annoying. Fire aboard a starship was a potentially lethal affair, and everyone had to work together to find and extinguish the fire as quickly as possible. They ran to their assigned station and came upon the deck chief, Tanner.

"Zil! You're one of the first. Nice to see someone was paying attention at drills." He said, smiling quickly as he flung open lockers built into the walls. "Put on your gear."

Zil methodically put on his firefighting gear. Everyone aboard had some, and they were surpsied when they learned that the humans took the time and effort to consult the Swarm for plans and measurements for gear that would fit their bodyplan. It was almost like a spacesuit, but not airtight, made of a very thick cloth. There were tanks of breathing gas that the humans wore on their backs, but Zil's were strapped to their legs, like other Xerilan suits. They slid the helmet over their head and their feelers were blown around by a blast fresh air. It was annoying, but they knew that it wasn't something that could be adjusted. The humans needed their air to be fresh and in large volumes when they were under stress.

As soon as they were dressed, Tanner - also in his turnout gear - handed him a broom.

Even in the midst of an emergency, Zil regarded the broom curiously. "Uh Tanner, why did you give me a broom?"

"It's a hydrogen fire Zil, we don't know where it is."

Zil's hind-legs started twitching, preparing to launch themselves meters in the air and escape, just like their ancient ancestors. They suppressed the feeling. "What do you mean you don't know where it is?"

"Hydrogen fires are invisible and odorless. We can't see them." Tanner explained as he got his own broom. "We're going to walk the halls with the broom sticking out in front of us."

"How... will that help?"

"As soon as the broom bursts into flame, we know where the fire is!"

"We're going to walk until the broom bursts into flame? Don't you... don't you have sensors for this!?" Zil exclaimed as they began to follow Tanner. He would walk with his broom sticking out, angled towards the wall, and he moved Zil's broom so that it was pointed opposite his. Behind them two others from the deck team had their brooms out to the side.

"We do," Tanner said, not looking at them, "But they're never that accurate. Nothing like a physical indicator of an issue to find the leak fast. It's a simple solution, but that means it's robust and works even if there's a power outage or in some other kind of danger."

They methodically walked the halls of their deck, brooms out, with the alarm thankfully silent, but the lights still flashing annoyingly. They rounded a corner and came upon the other deck team, going the other way. As they approached, Zil saw one of their brooms flare to life, the fire orange and oily as the brushes caught.

"Found it!" One of the others shouted, and everyone dropped their brooms. Tanner signaled command to isolate the deck, and the pressure doors slammed down around them. Someone from the other fire team opened a cabinet and took out a fire extinguisher, and Zil ran over towards the pipe that was leaking and activated his comm. They did have a moment of thanks that the humans labeled everything. All they had to do was read off the location to command so they knew where to shut the line down.

"H2 line WES56.7, port side," he called over his comm. "Just aft of valve-" They glanced to the right, "-6769."

"Aft of valve 6769 copy." The voice on the other end crackled. Almost as soon as he called in the location, he could hear the whirring of machinery and the presumed jet of flame shrank until the only sign left was the smouldering broom and the smell of smoke and suppressant in the isolated hall.

"Nice work Zil!" Tanner said, and went to pat his back, but stopped, remembering that Zil hated being touched. "See? When you follow the training, you remain safe, and protected everyone and the ship."

"Yeah, but..." Zil opened his helmet and the hurricane if air thankfully stopped. "Brooms?"

"Simple solutions are the best ones, Zil." Tanner said, laughing. "Come on, it's up to maintenance now, we need to get back to our posts.

[jpitha]

When people come over, sometimes they want to go into my basement. This can be for professional reasons (plumbers, electricians, city inspectors, semi-illegal searches of my property for the whereabouts of my landlord) but it is often friends, who want to go down in order to see if I have the part they need.

As you can imagine, when you collect several metric tons of decaying 1970s Mopars, you also accumulate a lot of the parts and general bric-a-brac. For instance, I have like ten Dart radio antennas, which is more than eBay will ever offer at once. Little bits of chrome, to make your car look like it did when it was new. The only extant glovebox lock for a '72 Newport. All this, and more, in my basement. So what's the problem?

In this scenario, as with many others in home ownership, the problem is spiders. For whatever reason �� probably the intermingled scent of old hydrocarbons and prime web-building real estate – spiders really love my basement. Every time I go down there, I have to shake dozens of them off the part I want. Of course, I would never hurt them – such a thing would invite rain, and then that rain would make my backyard impassable and my cars would smell even more like mould – but I do not hesitate to evict them if it suits my needs. Kind of like my landlord, really. I hope they never find his body.

Now, the spiders freak a lot of people out. I kinda get it. The media has spent a lot of time and money making folks afraid of our eight-legged friends. For what reason, I can only speculate, but it is often that I have to serve as a part-time therapist for grown adults who are allowed to operate at high speeds a two-ton 1970s Chrysler product but are terrified of little fuzzy creatures that barely comprehend your existence. I just add it as a "special handling" charge on their bill, much like the hospital charges you for crying. And if I have to go down there, hoo boy, you're gonna be shelling out for that mirror cover or cigarette lighter spring.

My point is that you don't have to be afraid of the spiders. Me and my arachnid pals simply coexist. I'd charge them rent, but the exchange rate between "partially-mummified bug corpses" and dollars is not particularly great this year. So come on down to my place: if you're not terrified of spiders, you can get a really great deal. Not you, officer. Nice try. Is that even a real warrant, or did you draw it on the back of a Denny's kid's club menu in crayon?

[jpitha]

Every so often, I hear constituents complaining about me. They march on my palatial strip-mall office and demand reforms. They ask when I'm up for re-election. Folks, I'm here to tell you that you didn't elect me at all. I'm not actually a real-ass politician. Come inside, it's cold, and let me explain. Christophyr, fire up the Mr. Coffee, these sons of bitches deserve a decent brew after what their actual politicians are putting them through.

It all started a couple years ago, on a night much like tonight, when I noticed that big corporations are really sloppy with how they pay their invoices. A friend of mine was skimming tons of money off the Mercurial Office Supply Corporation by simply showing up and asking to be paid for plumbing work he didn't do. Stood to reason, maybe they'd be sloppy with how they'd pay their bribes too. I noticed that they gave a lot of money to the local re-election campaign, so I decided to run for office too.

Now, running for office is expensive. That's part of how they keep the common man out of it. You've gotta get all those signatures, take all those meetings, give all those speeches. Don't have time for that, because I'm busy playing with remote-controlled cars in the parking lot behind this office most of the time (Helen cheats, don't trust her to not cork a battery pack,) and the rest of the time I'm calling big-business donors and asking for re-election funds. You wouldn't believe how easy it is: just prattle off some low-tax nonsense, talk about "innovation," and mention that you sure would like them to send you ten thousand dollars. Then they do it, without even checking if you're actually a sitting politician.

Now, is it fraud? No. Politicians write the rules, and if they were going to jail just because they did a little thing like "take money from shady mega-corporations and then not do what they want," then every single one of them would be in jail. Nobody is ever really happy with what they buy with the corrupt blood money, but they throw it at the thirsty politicos just in case it helps tilt things just a little bit in their favour. Lots of gambling problems in the C-suite, I'm telling you. And it's not even really a lie. I really do need that money to run for re-election: I'm the treasurer of the local small town's parent-teacher association, and competition is fierce. Nobody ever asks what my actual position is before handing over the cash, for some reason.

I hope this has been educational for all of you in the enraged, violent mob that is tweaked about some other politician's horse hockey, of which I have no control or knowledge. Please enjoy the rest of your coffees in the parking lot.

Actually. One last thing before you all leave. We've got this election coming up, and getting some small-dollar donations from all of you will really secure my grassroots bona fides. Why, you wouldn't want to be giving that money to my opponent, who will probably torture and maim your children. Whoever that opponent is, I don't have time to read the newspaper anymore. Christophyr, pass out the collection basket.

[jpitha]

Humans find ways to enjoy the most dangerous things ever.

Alien: Welcome human, to our space craft.

Human: Thank you for having me. Oh. Is that a fish?

Alien: *taps the tank* Indeed. Poisonous and causes the most painful death known to us.

Human: Ah. So, what does it taste like?

Alien: ...sorry?

Human: Does it taste good when cooked?

Alien: I-it's in a heavily guarded tank-

Human: Yeah but- OH. I'M SO SORRY.

Alien: Y-yeah- I was so confused-

Human: It's a pet! I'm so sorry. I must have seemed so insensitive.

Alien: What? No! We're researching it. R-E-S-E-A-R-C-H

Human: Oh ok. But surely, you've found a way to make it a delicacy.

Alien: NO! Next thing I know, you might ask how our venomous reptiles will taste. Like the Produlator.

Human: Oh. The snake looking thing? Pretty sure the human restaurant down the street serves it. Really good.

Alien: ...I'm voting for all of you to be sent back to your planet.

[jpitha]

Humans do not go gentle into that good night

Huddled in a corner of the broken shuttle with a crewmate, Yet'zaks was confused.

"What are the humans doing?" Xe asked quietly.

"They are seeking supplies." D'A!!k responded, their whistles muted as they struggled to vocalise in the frigid air.

"Why? There is no way to repair the shuttle and no recovery planned."

The honourable and dignified way to die in these situations was quiet and still. It was to sleep.

The humans did not understand that. They were searching for ways to generate warmth, for water and food.

"There are no rescue ships coming. They know we will be dead before they can arrive." D'A!!k tried to explain to the humans.

"Bollocks to that."

"That- apologies, I believe I have had a malfunction in my translator."

"I doubt it. I said bollocks and I meant it." The human snapped back. "The atmosphere is breathable, the temperature's low but there's fuel for a fire, there's snow so there's water, and there's vegetation so there'll be something to eat."

"It is futile if we are never rescued."

"Twenty percent of our colony worlds started with a crash." The human laughed. "You spineless bastards can lay down and die-"

"We have spines." D'A!!k corrected, confused as to why his anatomy was being referenced.

"We do not go gentle into that goodnight, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage, against the dying of the light." The human picked up, to D'A!!k's rapidly growing horror, an actual stone tipped spear. "You can curl up and die while we build ourselves a new home." The human turned away. "Hey guys, I've got a name for the planet! Thomas! We can be the Dylan colony on planet Thomas!"