One Leap Year of Instants (2020)

By C M Weller

Through the year of 2020, C. M. Weller wrote one story for each day of the year. Read here the collection of science fiction, fantasy, and random nonsense from the mind of another realm. Every story in this book is prompted by readers like you!

This year has been harder for most, for reasons including -but not limited to- fire, plague, and riots. Read the daily escapes indulged by and for readers just like you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C M Weller
• Release date: Jan 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005118082

C M Weller

C M Weller has decided to keep their full identity a secret until such time as one of their works becomes a bestseller. They share a house in Burpengary East with two children, two cats, and a spouse who sometimes thinks they're insane.Every October, C M Weller releases a free short story, in honour of both their birthday and All Hallow’s Read.Unfortunately, this author has managed to avoid doing all the things that make author bios interesting reading. Sorry. However, ze has been publishing stories via Smashwords since 2012, and has an Amazon-exclusive novelette titled Free Baby.This writer is allergic to almost all forms of alcohol (long story), too asthmatic to indulge in tobacco, and in possession of a body chemistry that makes the more interesting drugs problematic at best. Thusly, their chief addiction is their own imagination.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other works by this author:

Nor Gloom of Night

Good Boy Blowing Bubbles

Scavenger

It Happened One Wednesday

Hevun’s Rebel

Hevun's Ambassador

Hevun's Gate

One Year of Instants

Interview Inside a Terrarium

The Amity Incident

One Leap year of Instants

Better

One Year of Instants (2015)

I Wish, I Wish

One Leap Year of Instants (2016)

Kung Fu Zombies

Comes Around

One Year of Instants (2017)

Well Rendered

One Year of Instants (2018)

One Year of Instants (2019)

For more information please visit my author site CMWeller.com.

Challenge #001: Tearful Appreciation

Are you alright? The same question they got lots of times when tears would fall down their cheeks. Of course, they understood the Galactics were not used to seeing a human crying when nothing was wrong, obviously. They were sitting with their friends watching a video that showed incredible sunrises and sunsets from various worlds with a background for these wonders being the sound of an orchestra increasing the richness of the experience. And, as always, they wiped their cheeks and said softly to their friends. It's... just.. so beautiful. -- Anon Guest

Human Pal was an emotional cryer. As in, more than the standard emotion made hir weep. Tears sprang readily to hir face at the drop of a hat. Not just sadness or anger, but also joy, wonder, and pure aesthetic adoration. The old term for it was 'crybaby'. Newer, more understanding terms include hyper-responsive tear ducts or the more abbreviated, tearfully emotive. Pal is... unusual, even against the Human baseline for unusual Human behaviour.

Thus, when ze enters a new place, ze prefers to introduce hirself and hir weepy eyes to as many people as possible. Ze also introduces all the concepts via the local free Infonets. Nevertheless, for the first two months of a new habitat, the one question everyone in her new community asks is, Are you all right?

Fortunately livesuits have chemanalysis built into their liquid vacs, so when out on a mission, the crew need only check their HUDs for status updates. The very instant the Galactic Alliance learned that Human tears had different chemical makeups depending on the emotion behind them, they added chemanalysis to tear vacs in every human-compatible livesuit. It was important information, helpful to those who might miss other cues. Outside of a livesuit, however, the question always remained.

Are you all right? asked Threx. Considering that they were on a new planet and there could have been something that interacted with Human Pal's allergies, this was an important question. Surprise allergens were always an unwelcome surprise on a planet that otherwise registered as habitable to the scanners.

Human Pal was sitting on a high branch and staring out over a vista of soft pastel colours, caused by both foliage and flowers on this world. There were stronger colours, too, but pastels seemed to rule. It's so soft, sighed Human Pal. It's... so... beautiful.

Gemstone-hued creatures somewhere between 'bug' and 'bird' flitted between blooms, just adding to the sparkle of it all. Any other Human would be beside themselves with paranoia, but Human Pal was weeping. Ze may be weeping with a smile on hir face, but ze was weeping nonetheless.

Threx, more or less used to this display by now, said, Ah. You are being illogical. Are you in need of comfort or companionship?

Human Pal's voice wobbled as ze said, I'll be fine... thanks.

[Big thanks to Paladin for sending me a bunch of coffees]

Challenge #002: Needing a Hand

His name was Marvin. He traveled with a band of friends on various adventures. But his life had not been quite this pleasant before he met them. Abused, mistreated, made to feel stupid, even when he was with the gang, people he thought were his friends, it had been misery. Now, with the wizard, the kobold, and the others, he actually had a chance. But, on quiet nights like this, as they had set up camp and he was not on watch, he thought back to those days, and when asked, again, why he had trouble sleeping, after all this time, he decided it was alright to talk about it. -- Anon Guest

Lady Anthe usually took the middle watch. Her being naturally adapted to the dark also made her naturally inclined to be nocturnal. It also aided in making sure Marvin was okay. Their first few nights as a party cemented the fact that he was a light sleeper, but after a few weeks, the fact that he actually had chronic insomnia became known.

It was at its worst when they were on the road. Some nights, he just didn't sleep between dusk and dawn. He would lie very still in his sleeping bag,, eyes closed, but he was not sleeping. He would always have one hand curled around the hilt of his weapon. Some nights, that grip would be white-knuckle tight.

Most nights, Anthe couldn't get him to respond in more than grunts to offers of conversation, but she kept hope in her heart for a breakthrough. When he felt safe, he would permit himself to be vulnerable. Tonight, her calm announcement that the stars were beautiful tonight actually got a verbal response. I can't really sleep on quiet nights, said Marvin. When I was with the gang? It was the quiet before the storm. I knew I was gonna get hurt, and the worst part was the waiting, so... when it went on too long? I'd get something wrong on purpose so the hurting would be over with. Quiet... always makes me tense right up. Can't sleep. Waiting for the hammer to drop.

Anthe could sketch out the rest of the picture. The gang would leave him alone at the base and probably leave him with a nigh-impossible solo task to accomplish while they were gone. When they came back after the period of quiet, they would use Marvin as their punching bag or practice dummy or both. They made sure every silence was followed by something bad for you, and laughed when you flinched, she guessed.

You know the shape of it. Yeah, Marvin sighed. It's easier for me to sleep when there are cities. It's the noise. I know safe noises and not-safe noises and... with you? There's lots more safe noises. Out here? I don't know what's safe and what isn't. I'm jumping at the quiet. I'm jumping at every strange noise. I don't like the nights out here, so... I stay awake. I keep watch. Because I can control that.

Anthe took a deep breath. It was always boots, for me. Loud, heavy, clumpy boots. A baby Kobold would fit in the palm of your hand, and a youngling would not be much bigger. Even in a small town, a Kobold knows to fear big, loud, clumpy boots and stomping footfalls. When I was bigger, though... the city guard thought it was funny to step on me. Or... step... close... to me. The memory still made her flinch.

Oh. I... I thought you were pretending to be scared of me when I was walking around. I'm sorry. I'm glad I got better boots.

It wasn't your fault and you weren't in the right place for gentle correction, said Anthe. Better boots helped a great deal. So did your absorbing my stealth lessons.

I am sorry I scared you, all the same.

Just as I am sorry the open road scares you. Would it help... if I kept a hand on you while you sleep? She moved her scaly draconic hand to pat his. You know the feel of me, and you would know that if I left suddenly... things would not be well.

We can try it, said Marvin. If it works... I would be grateful for a good night's rest.

It's a long road, said Anthe. For us to travel physically, and longer for us to travel in mending our souls. There will always be little cracks and unexpected troubles. The sooner spoken, the sooner we can work on helping each other.

Thank you, Marvin settled himself into his sleeping bag, one hand out and on the hilt of his sword. Anthe settled by his side and rested her hand on his. In a few minutes, he started snoring. Fast, and peacefully asleep.

Anthe watched over him for the remainder of the night.

Challenge #003: Human NO!

A: A Dyson sphere just millions of solar panels covering a star

B: But why do we need that much energy?

A: To make a black hole bomb

B: WAIT NO

https://youtu.be/ulCdoCfw-bY -- Anon Guest

Ever since Nikola Tesla accidentally invented radio[1], Humanity has been obsessed with transmitting energy without using some form of wire between points A and B. The instant they had the means, they switched to becoming obsessed with gathering as much energy as possible. Most species were sated with enough to deal with every obstacle, but Humanity loved having more.

Deathworlders tend to be instinctually in need of having enough to deal with every possible misfortune and at minimum two of the impossible ones at the same time. Most roll their eyes, muttering about Deathworlder contingency plans under their collective breaths. Some rare few dare to ask questions.

The star the Humans were building around had no planets, so logically there was no reason to be building there. It was far from the usual shipping lanes. Yet the Humans were installing top-of-the-line solar panelling at a safe distance from the surface of the star. What separated this stellar body from literally millions of others like it was that it was a slow-burning star with a lifetime measured in billions of eons. It was only natural that curiosity won out over caution.

"What are all of you doing here?"

We're building a Dyson sphere, said the spokeshuman. They were supervising via a digital display. They are just millions of solar panels surrounding a star.

Only a Human would think of such a superstructure in that manner. They were still working on the first, and largest ring of panels and specially designed dynamo fans to turn in the solar wind and extract energy from the ejected plasma. Humanity seemed determined to ring every joule out of this star or die trying. There was more than enough energy for everyone concerned, all through the Alliance, the Edge Territories, and more than millions of stars beyond that. Theoretically enough even for Humans. Therefore, Brex asked, Why? Why do you need to do this?

We want to see if we can make a black hole bomb.

Brex froze for a minute and remembered these were Humans he was talking to. With trepidation and the foreknowledge that any possible answer could be bad, Brex asked, "Would that be a bomb to blow up a black hole or to create one?"

The spokeshuman appeared to consider this. "To be honest, either would be kind of cool... but no. We want to make a black hole for preference."

Why?

"The potential for infinite energy for everyone forever, of course. Or a really big kaboom if it goes wrong. And as a bonus, we could see if blowing up a black hole creates matter! This could answer so many questions about the universe."

Humans, of course, answered many questions about things by selectively destroying everything around them. It didn't really matter what it was, they were the kind of species who learned about the universe by dismantling select portions of it.

Brex sent a discrete alert to the Alliance to keep watch on this project and, if it was determined to be truly dangerous, stop it before anything went irreversibly bad.

[1] True Historical Facts: Tesla thought of radio as a means to transmit energy wirelessly. He didn't object when Guglielmo Marconi used the idea to transmit sound instead of energy.

Challenge #004: Soft Protection

Cuddly-Pie, Uplift, the name said it all, designed as an accessory/servant. now acts as Companion,Escort, Shield for those humans needing a Buffer and Shield when moving about or interacting with life. The Shield works both ways. -- Anon Guest

Augment -- a non-cogniscent species given cusp-cogniscence at a genetic level before gestation and training after birth in order to be an engineered assistive animal, usually sterile and made for assisting one person.

Uplift -- a non-cogniscent species given post-birth retrogenetic treatments and surgeries to give them cogniscent qualities. Many are not sterilised and are kept in indentures to ensure their progeny can become Uplifted like them. -- Galactic Alliance Definitions For Newcomers.

Augments are made for a function, Uplifts -once freed from servitude- can choose what they do. Cuddly-Pie chose to be a Shield. An Escort, protector, or companion for those who needed it. They expected to be escorting Havenworlders, and for the most part, that was their job. A safe and comforting barrier between more delicate species and the rest of the known universe.

What Cuddly-Pie hadn't expected was Humans who needed them too. It was something of a surprise to find one of their creator-species waiting in the comforting lounge for them. They were not small, and they didn't appear to be weak. They appeared to be an average human. Average brown skin, average dark eyes, average height, and average weight. What was not average was the way they curled up on themselves in a corner of the lounge, a large fluffy pillow clutched to the knees like a bulwark against the rest of the known universe. Human... Jaime? risked Cuddly-Pie.

The Human flinched a little. You're my shield? I... thought when it said 'Cuddly-Pie' as a name, that it was... a... nickname?

It's more a middle finger to my creators at this point, Cuddly-Pie kept a respectful distance and pointedly sat on a nearby chair as if they were still proving something with that action. Most of what they were doing now was rebellion against a former master who was basically the worst micro-despot the CRC had ever encountered. Cuddly-Pie had to continually remind themself that this Human was not their abuser and therefore didn't deserve any ire. The Human was clearly terrified of everything, leading Cuddly-Pie to wonder why they were travelling at all in the first place. I have been assigned to help keep you safe on this leg of your journey. Why not begin by helping me understand what you need? It was the normal spiel, despite using it on a Deathworlder, but it worked.

Human Jaime had phobias on their phobias. A layperson's diagnosis might easily be, scared of existence but that wasn't quite true. Human Jaime had a maladjusted threat detecting ability, and was therefore likely to react to the unfamiliar with abject terror. The time gave Jaime time to relax and become more comfortable with Cuddly-Pie in hir company. Ze even grew bold enough to express a desire to pet Cuddly-Pie's fur.

Cuddly-Pie was used to this. Fluff and warmth were soothing to many species and many of them wished to burrow in for the winter out loud. It was part of the reason why Cuddly-Pie had signed up to become a haptic therapist. The other part of it was that fur care was expensive and every Minute counted. It was also how Cuddly-Pie knew the correct way to hold and comfort a nervous person.

"You're good," sighed Human Jaime.

I've learned to be better than I was, Cuddly-Pie allowed. If you need to refine my interactions, I welcome feedback. What is your goal today?

It was a simple one. Well. Simple for Cuddly-Pie. Walk from the comforting lounge to the sleeper suite aboard a vessel headed towards a remote spa on a paradise world where Human Jaime would be gradually and safely introduced to hazards at a rate ze could handle. The reason why they had to go so far out of their way was simple, too. Their own place of origin didn't believe that the treatment Human Jaime was going to get was the correct one. They had a throw them in the deep end policy and collectively wondered why so many sank without a trace.

Humans. They had the most amazing capacity for ignorance, sometimes.

Challenge #005: The Work Around

A disabled human (invisible disability) from a...less than understanding society, grown to adulthood and full of the painful little quirks and habits that one develops in order to survive that situation, encounters a member of the Galactic Alliance. A member of the Galactic Alliance who isn't sure what to do with a deathworlder who apologizes for displaying distress, and cries from joy when not berated for showing signs of pain when there's nothing wrong -- Anon Guest

They call me Human Kaz, and I'm never going back home. Some say home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. Others say that home is a state of mind. Still more reckon that home is anywhere you find the people who get you. I like the last one.

Where I'm from? The people who get me don't count as people. They're called 'critters' by most and 'space critters' by everyone else. Everyone's supposed to know what's meant when it's said. Me? I never quite got the hang of it. I never quite got the hang of a lot of things.

I never got the hang of casual metaphor. I've always interpreted things literally first. I never got the hang of telling who was laughing with me and who was laughing at me. I never got the hang of telling the difference. In places with the wrong kinds of noise, I have to lipread just to hear what people are saying. At minimum, I have to stare at their mouths as they talk. It helps me focus on the right sounds. I've tested badly in the past and -to be honest- it took me working my heart to a cinder in order to get to Farreach Station. The furthest outpost my people were ever willing to go to. It was there that my life changed.

I never tested very good for anything, but in order to work in the Galactic half of the station, I had to pass a Galactic Aptitude Test. I was told all my life that I would never be good for anything. I was told that my test results said it was a miracle that I remembered how to breathe. Therefore, I went to the Galactic tests fearing that I would be thrown back down into that gravity well I knew as my home planet, never to be anything ever again.

It was more than a shock when they offered me accommodations, better pay, and a job I could never have thought to have on the 'improved' homeward side of the station... after sufficient training, of course. I do remember that I wept at the thought of training. By then, any loud vocal sound made me want to jump out of my skin. I had regular nightmares about people yelling at me.

Galactic training was... almost the exact opposite of my homeworld's kind of training. Back home, they more or less throw you at a task and yell at you when you get it wrong. Punishment is frequent and harsh and I would do anything to avoid any more of that. Galactics? They began with therapy. Gently showing me that the way I knew was not the way of all things. I'd tested high for anxiety and they had methods to reassure me that my fears were less likely to become reality on their side of the airlocks.

For the first time in my life, I could learn at my own pace. For the first time in my life, I was coached on how to tell the difference between friends and people who kept me around just to laugh at me. For the first time in my life, I made real friends. For the first time in my life, I grew confident because... for the first time in my life, I knew what I was doing before I did it.

I still have bad habits, those are hard to shake, but I'm getting better. They're teaching me better coping strategies. They're teaching me to ask for help when I feel something is wrong. The pain in my body may be psychosomatic, but it's still a symptom because I've been ignoring all the other ones. It's a slow and steady climb, and my therapists all tell me it's all right to take it at my own pace.

What am I? I'm a shield. They say I'm especially good with the more fragile Havenworlders because of my willingness to adapt and improve. The cringing, though an artifact of my former life, is especially good for Havenworlders because they so rarely encounter anyone who shows genuine signs of fearing them. It helps them feel strong. Confidence, I have learned, is key.

Did you know? The people on the homeworld side hardly recognise me at all. I don't stammer, and I certainly don't make myself small around them any more. Better yet for the Havenworlders, I have discovered a very wide protective streak. I will NOT let any of my former alleged friends hurt my new Havenworlder friends like they had once hurt me. I have an itchy mute trigger finger and they know it.

I used to be too afraid to show my face to the other side. I'd wear a livesuit like so many others did on the Galactic side, all the better to prevent disease from travelling rampant, and darken the faceplate so that they wouldn't know who was in there. Then, one day, I forgot to darken the faceplate and... though it was someone who used to yell at me every day... they didn't know me. My name and my face were right in front of them and they didn't know who I was.

Maintenance on the Galactic Side is always looking for small noises that could be signs of trouble. What used to get me laughed at is an important duty, up on the station. Homeworld's side, with their rigid adherence to Not a problem for me, not a problem for you, have more accidents and disruptions than the Galactic side. They're not too afraid to accept Galactic help when the disaster strikes, but call it unnecessary meddling when they offer to prevent it.

There are many days I agree with Galactics whole-heartedly. Humans are insane. The difference between my homelanders and I is I've learned to know when I need help and won't stubbornly refuse it because I believe everything is fine.

I'm not cured. Not yet. Every now and then, I have bad days. I go back to being afraid of disapproval, apologising for existing, and so on. They're rough on me, they're disturbing to the clients, and they're worrying everyone around me. That's when I know I have good friends.

They don't laugh when I'm having a bad day. They gather around and help.

Challenge #006: Little, Quiet, Troublesome

There were three humans aboard this ship. As big as it was, and with the size of the crew, even with three they had their hands full! Still, it wasn't a bad job, pay was good and they saw some of the most beautifully unexplored worlds. Two of the humans were burly individuals, boisterous and active. During down time they always headed to one of the storage areas that had been converted to a game room to burn off steam playing racket-ball, badminton, or work out with the free-weights.

But then there was the third person. They were quiet, polite, unassuming. During down time they read, or worked with their companion learning the history, and language, both oral and written, of the crew they were with, something they did with every crew he ever worked for. In violent encounters, they were likely to stay back and let the larger, stronger, humans handle it and direct their efforts into helping their crewmates stay calm and get them to safety. But you know what they say, look out for the little guy. Because when the pirate attacked the ship and his companion was badly wounded, this small, unassuming, human makes the big ones look like gentle teddy bears compared to their rage. -- DaniAndShali

Humans are pack animals, and they will bond with anything. They will even bond with inanimate objects. They're that good at bonding with others. It has long since been advised that any ship should have a minimum of two compatible Humans on board. The Touring Trader had three. Two large ones who lived up to the expectations of Deathworlder violence on the daily, and one... who did not.

They called him Pip, though knowing Humans, it was either an extreme shortening of a much longer, much more complicated name... or an in-joke that only fellow Humans would understand or even find funny. He was the quiet one. During bonding times, he preferred to sit quietly and read while other Companions shared the same space. Sometimes, he would share snippets he found funny.

He liked creating things, working on clockwork constructions when he wasn't on duty. Designing them on paper and tweaking the printed results in his little workshop. Even he joked that he was the Invisible Human, so quiet that he passed under everyone else's radar. Nevertheless, the bigger Humans, Jo and Del, joked that everyone should watch out for Pip, as the most dangerous Human on board.

The Humans were all laughing at those comments at the time, so everyone assumed it was a joke. They thought it was a joke. Until the Rabnathi pirates successfully attacked the ship.

Rare, indeed, is the band of pirates that can overrun two Humans, but they did manage to overpower Jo and Dal, leaving them incapacitated and insensate on the cargo bay floor with the rest of the hostages. Well, almost the rest of the hostages. Human Pip had done his usual party trick of blending into the background and being overlooked. The rest of the crew were not about to tell their invaders that the Touring Trader had three Humans on board, even as they wondered what one relatively small and under-muscled Human could do.

They would all find out in due course.

The Humans were only slightly joking. They knew the way things went with their own kind. Watch out for the little ones, they said. Watch out for the quiet ones, they said. Especially watch out for the ones who qualify as both.

The pirates started vanishing just five hours after the hostages were isolated from the rest of the ship. They were always alone when they vanished. They were never seen whole again, some of them for days. The sabotage began to be noticed three days into the sojourn. Rebreathers set to eject their wastes into the breathable air feeds. Food printers set to dispense chemicals toxic to the invaders, but not immediately noticeable to any cautionary scans.

Airlocks started acting erratically. The navigation computer kept resetting to areas with zero tolerance policies towards pirates. The engines refused to go at anything above two hundred kliks[2] per hour unless the ships were headed for one of the aforementioned zero tolerance zones. The Emergency Signal kept spontaneously activating at random moments.

An annoying repetitious Human song known as an 'earworm' kept playing at random moments throughout the shipboard intercoms. Why Istanbul was once Constantinople and how that could turn into one of those pieces of music that never went away, and what made it worse was that this phenomenon spread to the initial pirate vessel. Those who remained couldn't sleep for the knowledge that Istanbul was Constantinople, now it's Istanbul not Constantinople...

These particular pirates - the survivors, anyway - broke in less than two standard weeks. They had repeatedly tried and failed to find Human Pip, let alone wrestle him out of whatever venue he chose to hide in. They let the _Touring Trader set its own course, released the hostages, and rounded themselves up in the mess hall, which kept printing poisoned cupcakes.

Human Pip only emerged after the local enforcing arm started sweeping both vessels for traps. He was thinner, and sported many minor injuries, but there was an aura of bloody-minded determination about him that had seasoned space marines asking permission to enter his personal bubble.

Human Jo, upon seeing him, grinned and elbowed an attending Medik. See? You gotta watch out for the little, quiet ones.

For the record, Human Pip was grateful to get back to their clockwork.

[2] Klik: An abbreviation for One Thousand Standard Distance Units. At this point, it's best to never ask how the Humans come up with these or why they're so useful. Just roll with it, as the Humans would say.

Challenge #007: Determination and Caffeine

A planet with a mix of deathworlders and havenworlders, one of the few planets to have such a mixed colony, is struck by an unusual virus. For the havenworlders, it's painful, it makes them very, very sick, but it is survivable, mostly. Though there have been casualties and other side-effects. For the deathworlders, it's just as painful, but worse, the virus is mostly fatal if contracted. And the survivors are usually in very bad shape. The disease is also, unfortunately, extremely contagious between the two populations. And, contrary to what some conspiracy people are trying to spread, it's a natural virus, native to their world.

The entire planet is under quarantine, and it's a race against the clock to save as many as possible. But some who are starting to panic with the rumors it could escape off-world are considering a very unpalatable solution indeed. Abandon the colony, scorch all that's there, and label the planet uninhabitable due to its virology. Now it comes down to who can be saved, or will fear get its way? -- Anon Guest

The good news was that there was a ninety percent survival rate with moderate medical intervention. The bad news was the close to hundred percent infection rate, and the panic surrounding that. There was nothing like a pandemic to create an equal pandemic of panic amongst the populace. What was odd was the difference between the Havenworlders and the Humans who were suffering. The Humans, usually steadfast and patently unkillable, were dying from the disease. Well. Complications from the disease. They were the ones who needed more severe medical intervention. They were the ones for whom early diagnosis made the difference.

Humans had been through this sort of thing before. The instant that the virus proved to be deadlier for them than anyone else, they initiated severe protocols. Neighbourhoods, then houses, then family members were isolated behind barriers and sterile environments. The knowledge of how it spread was as vital as the knowledge of how to defeat it. So far, the best option for Humanity was to avoid catching it in the first place.

The Havenworlders sharing the planet with them were paranoid. If the disease killed Deathworlders, then what hope did they have? The news that it used the Humans' kill or cure immune system against them did not hearten the S'sithans facing the disease. Many feared death. More feared spreading the plague to the remainder of the Galactic Alliance.

The shared colony of Bigger Bognor was shut off from the Alliance. Supplies came down to the planet by automated drone. Experts came in apocalypse-rated livesuits and special, sterile habitats to live in whilst they worked. Delivery systems for the colonists also arrived by automated drones. Hospitals there became a series of airlocks to prevent anything spreading anywhere. The Humans knew every method to stop a disease from spreading and they were going to use them.

The S'sithans, far less effected by the virus, were pondering the incineration option. Burn the entire world and everything on it, including the colony and the colonists. They saw it as a noble sacrifice for the greater good, and was a guarantee to eliminate the virus natural to the planet. Fortunately for the colony, the colonists, and the greater portion of the Galactic Alliance, calmer heads prevailed.

Those who methodically isolated the cause, farmed the virus in laboratory conditions, and created the vaccine. Then created versions of the vaccine. Finally, they encoded a new variant of the immunoflu that would provide the most effective barrier against the disease - herd immunity.

It took them months, but they did it. Months of working on the cure whilst others worked their hearts to pieces in their attempts to save the suffering. No warriors in history ever fought so hard for so long. No heroes ever expected no further reward but the simple fact that the colony would survive.

How did the Humans celebrate the fact that their colony was not blown to smithereens? Fireworks, of course.

Challenge #008: Around and Around They Go

Based off of this post: https://steemit.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-02375-f185-call-it-a-win

He remembered the portal made out of antimatter and tachyon particles, he tried replicating it multiples times but all ended in failures. Many times and many explosive experiences later he came across a strange matter literally called strange matter from a neutron star. Not only it was still stable but also within the same fabric of spacetime. Years later a woman inserted her hand into a three pronged device while a robotic voice exclaimed very good, you are now in possession of the Aperture Science handheld portal device -- Anon Guest

[AN: Much though I'd love to ruin my prospects of actually selling an instants anthology for income, I have to decline.]

There had been very much ado about the portal. Five dollars was, indeed, five dollars... and Science was tempted to bet Steve that he couldn't do it again. They also rather feared that he could do it again. Unfortunately, though Humans will do literally anything to win a five dollar bet, they're less able to do it for a mind-bogglingly uncountable stipend.

In brief, though he may have been able to build the portal to win a five-buck bet, there was no way Steve could build it for a billion-dollar business investment. All sorts of theories emerged, mostly considering the vast distances between linked portals and what data could be obtained with teams, supplies, and enough stable time loops to theoretically accelerate technological evolution by ten to twenty thousand years.

The structure already there was 'impossibly old', data gathered from what cameras viewed through the portal. Living, organic eyes never saw the same thing twice, and didn't like what they saw looking back at them. That was really how the experiments began.

Data could travel back the way it came. Physical things could not. They called the attempts a 'paradox crash' as the thing sent through the portal would fatally collide with itself on the way back. Therefore, they sent robots. One to set up a communications hub and others to go explore the ruins. The instruments said that the air was breathable, the plants were compatible with Human life. In fact, it looked like people had been there before.

They told a peculiar story. Documented in granite, so that it would take longer to erode. The portal apparently sent objects back ten to twenty thousand years. It sent people back a lot further. They were prepared by the monuments' documentation and took seeds with them in their pockets. Seeds in their pockets, tools in their hands or in their backpacks. Things carried by organic life went with the organic life. Things sent on their own in care parcels were found by the robots in later millennia. Spoiled, broken, and decrepit. Useless for both past and future.

Humanity had, according to the monuments, sent the best and the brightest down in deep time to accelerate learning and then... one day... the missions stopped. They could no longer fund the building of a new society in deep time. Especially since that new society was starting to look like the exact opposite of the politics at the time.

The colonists therefore started to plan. Not only would they document their results, but they would also advance themselves during the intervening time. Interstellar travel couldn't be that hard. Someone had bet someone else five dollars that they couldn't do it. Success was nigh.

Their new mission? To travel to Earth and teach it the proper ways to be civilised. Educate the early Humans in how to properly manage a world and not allow commerce to overtake the best interests of Humanity as a whole. They left the documents behind in carved granite, inside structures designed to withstand the slings and arrows of deep time. Then they packed up all their learning, science, and supplies, and set off.

They predicted they'd arrive in the Sol system sometime close to the beginnings of the metallurgy ages, right at the end of the stone age.

Oh shit, said Steve, still working with the Earth-side of the portal team. "We're our own ancient aliens! I owe that motherfucker Von Daniken five bucks!"

Of course, the people funding all this believed that they would do things differently this time around and started sending the best and brightest down deep time to start a cycle that would never end...

Challenge #009: All About Where You Stand

I want to see a Havenworlder from a high grav planet. Dense and tough by necessity from the environment, but with absolutely nothing dangerous in to it in its home planet. No rough terrain to fall down, plentiful food without any toxins that effect it, gentle weather that never bothers it, etc. -- Anon Guest

Gravity is usually necessary for life to evolve. Most life comes to become on planets, with a rare few becoming in lower gravity environments that are also sealed against the greater vacuum of space. More often than not, life occurs on a planet of One Standard Gravity[3] or thereabouts. There are many more worlds in the universe with higher than One Standard Gravity. Statistically speaking, some of those are Havenworlds.

Of the Heavyworld species, the most famous intelligent species is the Gaux. They are not Havenworlders. Their struggle to the stars included the Two Standard Gravity environment that was their homeworld. They have been described as looking like the unlikely progeny of a centaur and a rhinoceros. Humans sometimes refer to them as the headless centaur ones. They are a species from the highest known gravity environment.

Heavyworlders are less likely to follow the anthropoid[4] model. They are more likely to be quadrupedal. They are more likely to have robust frames. They are less likely to be Havenworlders. That said, there are statistical anomalies everywhere. Picture in your mind a more muscular variant of the hippo, roughly the size of a domestic pig. In the place of an animal's head, the stub of a torso rises up in something that was not quite a head, but served the purpose thereof.

Heavyworlders tend to be hexapodal. Four legs bear the brunt of the body's weight, and two other limbs become the manipulating limbs that are eventually turned to tool use. Depending on the increment of gravity, some may even resemble other bipedal species. They look heavy, they look tough, and they are frequently mistaken for Deathworlders.

Heavy-grav Havenworlders are fairly rare, so it's an easy mistake to make. When a being sees a heavily muscular, stout lifeform that looks like they could barrel through most fortifications without a livesuit and emerge on the other side in a cloud of rubble with little in the way of personal injury. In lower gravities, this might be true. In Standard Gravity, they are stronger than they would be if they were fighting against the forces of their origin.

Tenkari get this a lot. They, like many Havenworlders, sort of sauntered vaguely towards civilisation and from there to the stars. People learning that they are more on the fragile side than they look are more than a little disturbed.

"But you don't look like a Havenworlder," protested Gihaash's current shield - Human Dun.

Many Havenworlders don't, said Tenkari Gihaash. Every Tenkari, for example.

Well. Yes, said Human Dun. "Obviously. But... as a heavy Havenworlder... you'd be something of a Deathworlder to the lighter-world peoples?"

Perhaps, speculated Gihaash, the quality of being a Deathworlder is also relative. Rather like time and distance.

There were roughly ten minutes of quiet from Human Dun. Okay, now you're going to have to rock me to sleep tonight...

[3] Ten Standard Distance Units per second per second falling speed.

[4] A less egocentric version of 'humanoid'.

Challenge #010: Assumptive Dread

Humans are not great because of what most people think. It’s not our physical capabilities or our ingenuity, not even or pack-bonding skills. It’s our heartiness and our healing ability that is boosted though the advancement of medical applications. Humans figured multiple ways how to rewrite our genetics codes before we had proper space travel, we were able to eradicate deadly diseases off the face of the planet. Hell I wouldn’t be surprised if we created the prototype livesuit. But there always one thing that we’re unable to cure. When you hear the news it hit hard. When a disease is perfectly attuned to your body and you tried to cure it, you’re basically asking someone to mangle your body to have a chance to survive. Cancer is humanity’s greatest rival. -- Anon Guest

Humans have a reputation for being unstoppable, and part of that is their ability to bounce back from injuries that other species would consider fatal. The other is their resilient immune system, their kill-or-cure biological strategies that sometimes come close to the first option, then the Human in question manages to pull through.

It's not perfect. Nothing ever is. The Human immune system can turn against itself, cannibalising otherwise perfectly functional body parts, sometimes destroying the Human in the process. Sometimes, it creates more material at random, growing bone where there was once muscle. Sometimes it just eats the body a little at a time. The other way it can go is growing new cells with amazing rapidity. Those clusters of cells take resources from the rest of the Human suffering from their growth and, eventually, starve the entire being to death.

Humans have been trying to stop things like this happening since they realised what those things actually were. Early attempts - including divine intervention and rudimentary yet impossible magic - were not effective. Later therapies were hit and miss until their medicine figured out some precision. For the most part, for centuries at a time, Humans relied on a mixture of highly dangerous medical treatments and equally dangerous surgeries to rid themselves of the anomalous cell clusters. When it comes to kill or cure, Humans really commit.

They call it 'cancer' when the cells grow beyond control, and it has become metaphor for the worst in any and all things. Until the perfection of autotargeting nanomachines, Humanity's prime methods of treatment were combinations of cutting parts of their own bodies out and hoping for the best, or treatments so harsh that they nearly killed the patient in the process. Some pockets of Humanity gengineered themselves so that they would become cancer-resistant, but the results were both dubious and varied.

As for the cancers that could be vaccinated against, there were astonishing and moral arguments against doing that that hindered cancer research for centuries. Mostly because of morals drawn from texts written millennia before the invention of science. Some were because of unfounded fears concerning the process itself. Fears that formed during the invention of vaccines and still will not be quelled.

Only Humanity would consider a heavily gengineered assistance virus like the immunoflu to be 'more natural' than the far safer introduction of virii particles into the bloodstream so that the immune system can prepare in advance for the real thing. Their illogic is labyrinthine, confounding, and beyond many cogniscents' understanding.

With such a history of horror in their medicine, it's no shock to have Humans being horrified when they find they have a cancer. This is especially common in those new to the Galactic Alliance or otherwise untrusting of alien technology. Medik Skorj found it relatively easy to tell which ones those were. They always had the same first question as they nervously perched on the bioscanner.

You're not going to probe me, are you?

This was where a quick briefing of informed consent blended with basic cogniscent rights proved to be most efficacious. Besides, medical diagnostics in the Alliance generally performed passively, collecting any signals the body let out during the process of functioning. Haemanalysis and other diagnostics only required an active scan. Explaining how things worked before applying them always helped.

In this case, the briefing was, I will not do a single thing to you without your express consent. You have the right to refuse any tests and procedures without the need for explanation. If you lie down on the bed, it will read your life signals. This is a passive scan and does not use any radiation.

Of course, the stress readouts were high, but Medik Skorj had already changed the alarms to pleasantly musical chirps, which were sufficient to calm the patient.

Humans liked blinking lights and musical chirps from their machinery. Skorj, with a far more sensitive ear for the subtle differences in tone, could tell when the patient was relaxed enough for accurate diagnosis. Skorj remembered to keep the cheerful, calming veneer over everything ze said and did.

The scanners have found something interesting, Skorj singsonged. I would like to run a haemanalysis scan to be certain that it won't be anything worrying--

It's cancer, isn't it? said the nervous Human. It's cancer and I'm going to die. Just skip to the part where you tell me how long I've got, okay?

Ah. One of those. The Human was going to spend most of the session over-concerning themselves about getting their affairs in order. You may have your entire life, singsonged Skorj, that being, an expected longevity. First, I will need to place this, ze showed the Human a Haemanalysis scanner, next to a vein. It will use small amounts of light to look at your blood and detect anamolies... strange parts within. Once I have that information, I shall be able to explain the next step.

The nervous Human was convinced that they were going to die earlier than expected, and spent most of the diagnostic section of the appointment fussing about how they were going to tie up the remains of their life in a neat little bow.

They were most shocked when they learned that a pinch of small robots could remove the cancerous cells with no further harm.

That's it? I get a needle in my arm or I swallow a pill and I get to live?

Yes. Those are your choices. The nanomachines can be administered orally or intravenously. Skorj decided not to show this Human what they looked like under an electron microscope. Explaining it in the format of lies-to-children. Think of them like a family of helpful ants. They think your cancer cells are sugar, so they go all through your body and find every single bit of cancer and eat it.

And they won't make a nest inside me?

Okay. That was a new one... What happens to an ants' nest when there's no more food?

It dies ou-- oh. Now they laughed. Finally. Once a Human started laughing, then there was less to worry about. Most of the time. So once the cancer's all gone, the little bots go, too.

Out with the rest of the bodily waste, chirped Skorj. Would you like the pill or the needle?

I'll take the pill, thankyou.

The Human insisted on weekly check-ups afterwards to see how their little ants were doing. A process that revealed the Human was giving them all pep talks every morning.

Humans. Even when they were misinformed, they had their moments.

[AN: I don't know how it happened, but I used today's prompt out of order. Apologies to all for the inconvenience.]

Challenge #011: Stacked Competition

Wanna play yugioh? -- Anon Guest

[AN: I have no idea how to play Yugioh, and I'm moderately certain that describing said game will impinge on someone else's intellectual property... so today, the part of Yugioh will be played by a completely made-up game called Ebisnach]

Humanity loves combat. Synthesized or real. They have more or less tamed their competitive nature in the form of formalised synthetic competition. They call them all games, but the nature of Human games is always some kind of competition. No more or less so than their card games.

Humans also like to collect things. With a combination of collecting and card games, the species has come up with some truly complex systems of simulated combat involving nothing more than sets of colourful pieces of card stock. Humans insist that the best way to learn is by playing, mostly because the verbal explanations can take weeks. Only Humans can pick them up that quickly. After that, it's simply a question of how deeply they dive into the fandom maelstrom.

Human Kee was, apart from one little quirk, a fairly amenable Ships' Human. The reviews were glowing wherever ze went. There was only one red flag. It read, Do not, under any circumstances, get hir started about Ebisnach.

Those with the curiosity to ask about it found out exactly why curiosity was deemed fatal. Felines not necessary.

Human Kee would take a deep breath and begin, "Oh man, I just flakkin' love Ebisnach, you have no idea. Every spaceport, I'm checking dispensers for new packs. I check the infonets for news on new series on the daily. I've got the novels, the comic books, the animated series, even the live action movies... but everyone agrees they were a mistake. I concur, by the way. I watch them once a year anyway to remind me how good the audio dramatisation is. But you wanna know about the game, right?"

Captain Thork didn't get a chance to voice either assent nor dissent. The question seemed to serve only to allow Human Kee to take a breath.

You start with a basic deck and the simplified rules. You can get that in a Starter Pack, now, but I began with Series One and building it from scratch, so everyone new starts on a better footing. I remember being trounced by the whales when I was a newbie, so I always have a couple of spare Starter Packs for anyone who's interested. Ze produced one, still shrink-wrapped, from hir pack. Want to play? It's an excellent way to learn. I can even use the Starter Pack so we're equal. I've been into Ebisnach so long I'm practically a whale myself.

I have duties.

Oh. Right. Yeah. The whole fun of the game is creating a perfectly-balanced deck. It's more art than skill. It's amazing when you get into it. Just remember that I'm always ready with spare decks in the rec room if anyone's willing to play.

Captain Thork didn't want to check, but ze was fairly certain that Human Kee had a thriving account on the infonets that was almost overflowing with Ebisnach fandom fiction.

Challenge #012: To Join the Common Cause

We have to actively fight for our lives, perhaps our very existence. Thousands of people are killed daily by these beings. So what fraction of our government tries to actively prevent us from fighting back until they can find a way to profit from it?

When they came, they came in promises. They came with generosity. They came with shiny treasures. They especially came with more profits for those already wealthy. They came with bright lights and glittering technology and soft words. The rich left with them, and were never heard from again.

For a long time, we wanted to be selected. We wanted to be taken away. The Earth didn't need more people on it, after all. The Earth needed a break from us. Time and again, year after year, some were selected and never seen again. Yet, year after year, the situation on Earth kept getting worse.

They came with promises of more for everyone. It took us years to realise that they meant more for everyone like them. We still don't know the name of the person who managed to use their technology to show us exactly what happened to the 'selected', but they are -posthumously- a hero. Since that news got out, the whole world turned upside-down. Again. Everything changed. Again.

Those remaining nominally in charge call the rest of us alarmists. They keep telling us that we're overreacting to an obviously fake video that was posted as a joke. To Serve Man is not a cookbook, this is fine, and there is no war in Ba Sing Se. You know the drill. They even arranged for some famous faces to be 'selected' and then return from the void at a later time.

Those nominally in charge did everything they could to prevent the underground from communicating, from assembling arms, from organising into groups, from having medicine, from avoiding the invaders... from doing anything to resist the invaders. They made action illegal. They made inaction illegal. They made it harder and harder for our society to function at all.

Those of us against the invaders chose petty obedience, wilful ignorance, and 'accidents' to fight the good fight. We were unavailable for 'selection' because methods of communication and organisation were banned. We sabotaged every piece of invader technology we could think of. Those of us who were 'selected' and could not avoid it took foul poisons to adulterate the invader harvests.

We made it increasingly costly for the invaders to take us. We made it increasingly costly for them to take our resources, we made it increasingly difficult for them to spill their filth into our clean water and food supplies. We have had centuries of experience in messing things up for the other guy.

We made it so difficult for our invaders that they chose to 'select' the nominal leaders of our alleged government. They would never be heard from again and they knew it. All of a sudden, their relatively cushy position was threatened, their lives were threatened, and everything they held dear was threatened.

In brief, they found out what it was like to be the rest of us.

The order of law collapsed, and the rebellion forces reached one hundred percent overnight. Less than overnight. Less than an hour. It took seconds.

It was the women who had been prepared the longest. They knew the winds of change, the signs of abuse, and what gaslighting smelled like. They had discreetly cached what they could, whenever the opportunity arose. They were ready to bug out, arm up, and fight back at a moments' notice. They had plans and strategies in place.

They were the bridge between leadership incompetence and the true strength of the revolution.

In the end, the true motivation to fight against the forces destroying us was not how the leaders could profit - but what they would lose by supporting them any further.

Challenge #013: Happy For Some

Welp since I learn that cursed knowledge I’m dragging y’all down with me with your own curiosity. Happy tapioca isn’t all that happy -- Anon Guest

[AN: Urban Dictionary holds all the answers to this mystery and I am positive the average reader does not want to know. Personally, I think it's a waste of perfectly decent pudding, but if it floats your boat, keep it private, thanks.]

When civilisations exist in post-scarcity, the weirdness multiplies. When people can have anything that helps them feel happy... the odd corners seem to multiply. That said, some things can be difficult to arrange.

In those corners, the Niche Therapists thrive. It is difficult for many newcomers to understand the exact role of Therapists in Galactic Society. Some mistake them for sex workers, but that is only part of their training. They are there for the mental wellbeing of any cogniscent who needs them. They are trained in all forms of wellbeing therapy, psychology, religion, and positive haptic feedback.

Most often, that therapy manifests in the form of talking. Haptic therapy is most often forms of grooming or massage, or a comforting embrace. The tawdry side of things is far rarer than any might think. Those who do occupy that niche tend to learn things every day. Those who do occupy that niche often need the services of the remainder of the Therapists.

Wait, said Therapist Jay. "They wanted to do what?"

They wanted non-standard intercourse in a medium of sweetened dessert-level carbohydrates. They were also content to soak in the medium and tell me everything about their life. Therapist Lon sighed. I know they went away happy, but...

You need specified amnesia to erase those memories?

All I could think of was how unsanitary it was. I bathed four times before I felt clean. All those bacteria in an ideal environment. Urgh. Therapist Lon shuddered. "I made sure the client bathed and sanitized too. The station definitely does not need that kind of pathogen vector just walking around."

You're feeling unclean and unwanted, diagnosed Therapist Jay. Would you like some hugs?

Please, said Therapist Lon.

Challenge #014: Seeing to Need

They were 10 years old when the incident happened. Hiding in the woods to try to escape the abuse they endured in the orphanage, they'd come across an unusual sight. Half-buried in the ground was .... something. They didn't know what it was, exactly, but the three outside the object sounded distressed. They went to the three and found them to be not much taller than they were and they were like very large birds. The problem had been the ship, for that is what the beings explained it to be, had been caught in a storm and they'd had to land for emergency repairs. The beings though they'd be safer if the ship was somewhat hidden in the nearby dirt cave only to have the cave collapse and the beings couldn't dig out, they were not strong enough. The youngster thought for a long moment and asked the beings to wait. About an hour later, five children followed the first youngster carrying buckets and shovels. They'd snuck the supplies out of the garden shed while the abusive staff were having their annual poker night. By this time, most of them were far from sober.

While it took several hours, and a few rest breaks, the kids managed to help the beings dig out the ship and the beings were deeply grateful as they completed the repairs. The kids being there, for that, also was a boon as the kids, together, were strong enough to hold panels in place while they were permanently secured. With the help of the youngsters, the ship was repaired in record time. The beings then asked the kids what it was that they'd like in return. The youngsters, aged 10 to only 6, had only one wish. To leave this orphanage where they endured constant times of hunger and often were struck. Indeed some of the kids still sported some fairly large bruises.