Betty Adams's Blog, page 50

Humans are Weird - Nice Soothing Murders

Book Review: Gopher Golf by Karl Beckstrand and Jordan C Brun – A Whimsical Wordless Conversation Starter for Kids and Parents

Gopher Golf by Karl Beckstrand and Jordan C Brun – A Whimsical Wordless Conversation Starter for Kids and Parents

“Gopher Golf” is a picture book that tells a delightfully whimsical story with no words. The pictures are full color and the art is well done. The story flows well from page to page and you are never left wondering what is going on. This is a delightful conversation starter to use for parents and children. Questions like, “How did he feel?”, “Where did the ball go?”, and “How did that little animal get his paws on a golf club?” are wonderful ways to get children talking.



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Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Kafka Hibino's Two Body Problem - Why Didn’t Kafka Sense the Incoming Kaiju at the End of Chapter 23 – A Theory of Bodies and Control

THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 
​
Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Humans are Weird - Closet Space

 Humans are Weird – Closet Space


Third Quartermaster to Proxima Base was waiting patiently outside of the small, circular door set into the wall of the hallway. The smooth green walls stretched an impressive length in every direction before curving out of sight. The walls were marked with a handful of other door types, most notable the ones that opened into the river that ran under the transparent floor. Third Quartermaster tilted his head to the side in interest when a pale white Undulate swam past. He didn’t suppose there was another Undulate with that odd coloration on the campus so this must be Professor Stiffens, the one who had requested the audit of the soup spoons the other day. Why the Professor of post-contact literature even knew what soup spoons were, Third Quartermaster did not know, but the audit was being duly preformed.
His thread of thought was interrupted when the door spiraled open and First Quartermaster skittered out of his office. The Trisk clicked in surprise and rearranged the unstable stack of data-pads that was threatening to overwhelm his paws.
“Third Quartermaster!” First Quartermaster said. “What brings you here?”
Third Quartermaster waited the polite six seconds as he had been taught before answering.
“We have a meeting about human space requirements,” Third Quartermaster explained.
“Yes,” First Quartermaster said, “I recalled that just as I started the question. Well, do you want to have it in your office or the fishbowl?”
“The fishbowl will need to suffice,” Third Quartermaster said, tilting his triangular head to the side in a rueful gesture. “One of the humans failed to follow quarantine protocol when he received a shipment of a predatory insect species.”
“There are predatory insects loose on the campus?” First Quartermaster demanded.
“They have been successfully confined to my office,” Third Quartermaster said with a reassuring curl of his antenna, “and all the humans assure me that the species is harmless to all known sapient beings.”
“And a bundle of stubble that will do the bio-active research if someone looses a new predator there accidentally,” First Quartermaster grumbled as they entered the glass-sided room which theoretically gave one a full view of the campus center.
In reality a few years of students and facility at the University had coated the walls with layer upon layer of written notes and cleaning marks, turning the once transparent walls almost translucent. It made for a reasonably private meeting place.
“Now, what is the latest problem with our big, friendly mammals,” First Quartermaster asked.
“One could hardly call this the latest problem,” Third Quartermaster said. “I haven’t classified it as a problem yet, and I have been tracking its development since the very first human researcher was sent here from the Earth University.”
“Do go on,” First Quartermaster encouraged him.
“This first human,” Third Quartermaster said. “He was a bi-mechanical systems engineer. When he arrived he had just slightly too much personal gear to fit in the storage containers he had brought. Everything seemed necessary and critical to his functioning so I supplied him with a storage unit for his quarters that was about twice the volume of his original unit.”
“Wise and generous,” First Quartermaster said, patting his paws thoughtfully on the stack of datapads that was still shifting in a way that made Third Quartermaster uncomfortable.
“Approximately two lunar months later I noted that the same situation had developed again,” Third Quartermaster went on. “The human did not complain but as the materials scattered around his quarters was a safety hazard, and again, he seemed to have no non-essentials I doubled his storage containers. This happened a few more times. Therefore when more humans began to be stationed here I elected to integrate closets and shelving units into the quarters.”
He paused and licked at one of his eyes as he considered his next words.
“I had assumed you smell,” he said slowly, “that this first human was simply one of those individuals who, through constantly living in harsh conditions of resource scarcity had adapted to a less than optimal resource conditions and that this had caused him to underestimate the amount of storage space needed for one human.”
“A reasonable assumption based on the evidence,” First Quartermaster said.
“However,” Third Quartermaster went on again. “As each new human arrives they each express satisfaction with the amount of storage space they are allotted. Note that it does not matter how much or little they are given. They all expression initial satisfaction, then they quickly fill the space to capacity and require more. I have the numbers and evidence here.”
First Quartermaster clicked in a tone of puzzlement as he took the data pad from Third Quartermaster and began to examine the data.
“Very curious,” First Quartermaster said. “Yes, I see that you simply cannot allot anymore space to each individual human. There is very little in the way of non-essentials. Very curious. Well.”
First Quartermaster tilted his head to the side finally and looked at Third Quartermaster with a handful of eyes.
“What do you think we should do about this?” he asked.
“A proper investigation into this is warranted,” Third Quartermaster said, gesturing at the information. “I have provided the justifications and have written up a proposal for the proper departments. Until that can be done I have put a stated cap on individual storage space in the University proper with options to contact outside storage facilities.”
“Very good, very good,” First Quartermaster said, approving the measures with a tap of his paw on the data pad. “Do the humans recognize the pattern?”
Third Quartermaster flicked an antenna at him in confirmation.
“They call it goldfishing,” he said. “Though the term does not appear to be culturally universal.”
THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 
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Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Humans are Weird - Out of Joint

 Humans are Weird – Out of Joint
​
Amazon.com: Humans are Weird: I Have the Data eBook: Adams, Betty, Gibadullina, Adelia, Wong, Richard : Kindle Store



“Are you quite sure that the harness crates are within the human’s lifting tolerances?” Fourth Click asked, his wings twitching a bit as he settled himself on the perch beside the base commander.
“They are far under the tolerance levels for even the weakest human,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks stated with a curt tone to his voice. “When I suggested bringing in a lift the human nearly had a fit laughing.”
Fourth Click didn’t respond but let his eyes track the human who was currently organizing the storage compartments. The planet they were on was shifting into what the humans called a monsoon season. While the storage compartment was rated for the wing ripping force of the winds the design involved a bit too much flexibility to allow for storage on the outer surfaces when the walls started pulsing to the windsongs of the planet. Therefore all of the storage shelves along the walls were being disassembled and restructured for extra structural support and their contents were being distributed throughout the base.
Of course the humans were an unspannable aid in this process. They could have never gotten it done without their help. From everything they heard the human’s own base construction had taken a different tactic. The outer shell of their base was completely rigid, several wingspans thick, and reinforced with several layers of rock that had been pulverized, suspended in liquid, then sprayed over the framework. It was a style of construction that would only apply to creature with the humans’ rock like bones he was sure.
Finally Commander Fifty-seven Clicks noted his deliberate silence and glared over at Fourth Click. In reply, Fourth Click shrugged and aimed his eyes on the human. Commander Fifty-seven Clicks gave an almost petulant growl and followed his gaze. The massive human was just then approaching the shelf where the crates of harnesses were. One massive arm swung in a steady rhythm to provide balance. The other arm was clutched to his side as if he was carrying a datapad but there was no datapad to be seen. The human reached the rapidly dwindling supply of crates on that wall. That near the edge of the compartment the human’s thick hair nearly brushed the ceiling. The human reached up as if to grab the box but just before his hand made contact the human paused and grunted in what was very clearly pain. It was a short moment, no one would have noticed if unless they happened to be looking at the human at just the right moment.
“What human nonsense is this?” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks demanded with a distinct clicking together of his teeth.
“Mustn’t grind your teeth,” Fourth Click reminded him gently, only to get a rather sour look in response.
The human had reached the box and lifted it down to his center of mass with another pained grunt. Commander Fifty-seven Clicks hissed at that and Fourth Click whistled through his teeth in agreement. Humans only bothered centering mass when it was well past the mass of the flight harnesses in the crates.
“I will investigate this,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks said in a grim tone.
“What’s got you in such a flit?” Fourth Click asked in surprise. “Overloaded or mislabeled crates are hardly something to get fluffed over.”
“The crates are exactly what they say they are,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks stated. “That human is concealing an injury.”
“What?” Fourth Click demanded. “That would be childlike foolishness!”
Yet when he looked back over at the human clutching the relatively small crate to his center of mass he had to agree that it did fit the observed data better than his theory.
“Probably a minor phlangie injury,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks went on. “I’ve been told that such injures are considered so minor for them that essentially all medical intervention is either useless or counterproductive. The only thing to do is to completely rest the appendage.”
“So why isn’t he resting?” Fourth Click demanded.
“A quirk of human nature,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks said with a wave of his wing. “They consider something that is such a small proportion of their mass important in direct proportion to its size. They take it as an affront against the nature of things that their entire mass could be rendered nonfunctional by a malfunction in such a tiny part.”
“How very human,” Fourth Click said with a wry chuckle as they took flight and swept over to where the human had just placed the crate on the hovering transport.
“Ranger Cram,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks snapped out, dropping his voice so the human could hear him better and shouting. “You are to rest your injured finger, and if that means resting the whole of your body you will do it.”
The human jumped and looked up at them with a wide eyed expression before turning his head to the side, giving them a view of the freakish white area of his eyes interlaced with blood vessels. Fourth Click tried to hide his shudder. You could almost swim in those eyes.
“My fingers are completely uninjured,” Ranger Cram said quickly, holding up his hands and flexing them for the base commander to see.
They did appear completely functional.
“They what,” the commander demanded as he swept forward and landed on the human’s shoulder, “part of you is damaged?”
“Nothing is damaged,” the human insisted. “Not really.”
“Not. Really?” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks pressed.
The human heaved a massive sigh that seemed to be trying to rival the storm outside, and his arm folded around to rub at a point about halfway from his legs to his neck.
“Well one of my ribs is out,” he admitted in a grudging tone. “Hurts a bit and slows me down but it’s one of those things where keeping working is really no worse for me than resting would be. Best to just keep working around it till the chiro gets here in a week or two.”
“Please explain that adverb,” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks interjected. “What do you mean by your rib being out?”
The human paused and his face worked as he tried to explain what was clearly a simple term to him. Finally he held up his hands, made them into fists, and placed one over the other before flaring out his fingers.
“So one of my ribs,” he said slowly. “Slipped out of where it’s attached to the vertebrate and is off kilter-”
Both of the Winged let out horrified shrieks and darted into the air. The human winced at the sound and glanced at them uneasily as they darted around.
“Your. Spine. Is. Miss-aligned?” Commander Fifty-seven Clicks finally calmed him self enough to confirm even as he gave a discrete wing signal for Fourth Click to contact the human commander.
They were going to need backup on this issue no doubt. The human groaned and raised his hands to rub his face.
“Look,” he said. “It’s not a big deal for us. I’ll just be in a bit of pain until-”
“Sit down!” snapped the base commander.
The human heave another sigh and gave a longing look at the half empty shelf before slowly lowering his massive frame onto the hovering transport.
“It’s not a big deal,” he muttered in protest once more.

THE AMAZON
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OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 
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Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Vice-Captain Hoshina is Almost Certainly Gonna be Court-martialed by the Kaiju Defense Force - He Sus

 Vice-Captain Hoshina is Almost Certainly Gonna be Court-marshaled by the Kaiju Defense Force He Sus

Hello my wonderful viewers and welcome to another episode of Betty Adams Theorizies. Today we are going to take a good long look at how very suspicious Vice Captain Hoshina is going to look when Kaiju NO. 8 inevitably saves his life in the upcoming battle.
Now this theory is a pretty huge jump but I think the series has been slowly and steadily building up to it. All of the elements are there.

THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 
​
Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Humans are Weird - Cupboards and Conks

 Humans are Weird – Cupboards and Conks


“And you are quite sure that humans use the same pattern recognition matrices that the rest of us use?” Rollsaround asked.
Fourth Sister flicked her antenna in a modified agreement. She was confirming the statement but with reservations. At the moment her head was tilted at the medical report she was composing. She finally affixed her hive sigil to the end of the report and immediately threw her body into a full stretch.
“When I was studying medicine as a youth,” Fourth Sister said in a tired tone, “I never imagined that I would have to report that I released a patient after a traumatic head wound because they refused to admit that a cranial membrane rupture as a severe injury.”
“Well I know nothing of cranial injuries,” Rollsaround said in a tone of amusement.
He wriggled the appendages at either end of his soft, pliant body to demonstrate and Fourth Sister flicked her antenna again before setting them stiffly.
“But you do have the concept of blunt trauma injury in your language,” she said.
“Not as much as you’d think,” Rollsaround said. “For all that we do come from a comparatively high gravity world the tenderness of the tides and of course the cushioning effect of the water meant that it wasn’t until our industrial stage that we even had to deal with it on a regular basis.”
He slipped from the shelf he was on into the water concavity in front of his workstation and swam around lazily hydrating for a few moments while Fourth Sister taped away at her report.
“So the concept really exists in our world much like radiation sickness in yours,” Rollsaround continued when he came back to the surface. “We recognize that it always sort of existed, but it is mostly seen as an unavoidable necessity of being a tool using species when the tools get too big for one appendage to grasp.”
“Well I know that humans have a very strong,” Fourth Sister said flaring her frill for emphasis, “very intuitive understanding of blunt force trauma. I don’t know why this human seems to be suppressing his instincts on the matter.”
“His dossier did mention a general lack of situational awareness,” Rollsaround said.
“How do you know that?” Fourth Sister asked with a sharp click.
“Oh it’s a fascinating complex many humans have,” Rollsaround said. “The central university asked us to do a full write up on the behavior in any humans we came across. Not really anything I can wrap my motile appendages around. Just slightly out of my reefs if you know what I mean, but the analysis they worked up is simple enough so I just turn it in for any human I am around for more than a week or two.”
“Can it spread any light on this human’s behavior?” Fourth Sister asked.
“Well as I asked before are you sure humans use the same pattern recognition matrices that the rest of us do?” Rollsaround repeated.
“I had assumed that was a facetious question,” Fourth Sister said with surprise.
“My warm sister,” Rollsaround murmured. “You have been spending far too much time with the humans.”
“Perhaps I am,” Fourth Sister said as her neck frill lightened in amusement. “Yes, as far as every University study has been able to confirm, they show the same pattern recognition of every other sapient species, the Composting ones excepted of course. We haven’t been able to string a single line about how they work but plant intelligence can’t be expected to offer much data on mammal intelligence.”
Rollsaround hummed in surprise.
“So you have determined them to be plants?” he asked, more than willing to float down another current of conversation.
“No,” Fourth Sister said, her antenna curling tighter, “but our First Mother has determined that discussing them as such will be far less detrimental to future intercourse than not having any word at all to use for them.”
“That sounds logical enough,” Rollsaround agreed. “We call them algae of course.”
The workstation chimed with the notification that Fourth Sister’s report was complete and she tilted her head to focus all of her direct attention on Rollsaround.
“What do pattern recognition matrices have to do with this injury?” she asked, tapping a finger on the report.
“If they are all the same nothing,” Rollsaround said. “Just a sealed channel I was exploring. No, if I were to toss out a strand I’d say that this human just has a poorly developed spatial memory.”
“What does spatial memory have to do with this?” Fourth Sister asked.
“Ponder on their extremely limited binocular vision,” Rollsaround said.
“Limited?” Fourth Sister asked with a derisive flick of her antenna. “I saw that same human spot a scrap of paper flitting across the ground two kilometers away.”
“Their range is truly impressive,” Rollsaround agreed, “but the human had to have the entirety of his vision focused on that exact point of xyz coordinates to see the paper. During that time he was quite blind to everything outside of that cone.”
“They do have other sense to compensate,” Fourth Sister observed.
“Which are limited to a near blind sense of touch, with all other lacking either range and/or dirrection,” Rollsaround pointed out. “To compensate for this they have a spatial memory that activates so quickly they can use it in active combat.”
Fourth Sister clicked in astonishment as she processed these new ideas. Then her frill rippled in annoyance.
“Then why cannot,” she demanded, “this human remember the location of the same cabinet corner that he has slammed his head into seven times now!”
“It appears that while this ability is innate in humans it must be trained to be properly useful,” Rollsaround said. “There also appears to be a slight correlation between humans who swim up the academic current and a state of underdevelopment of this sense.”
“So you are telling me,” Fourth Sister demanded, giving her report a frustrated flick, as if it was at fault for humanities's oddity, “that there is a direct correlation between how much effort humans put into developing their brains, and the likelihood that they are going to smack that giant, expensive organ into stationary furniture?”
“That does appear to be the situation,” Rollsaround said with an amused gurgle.



THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 

Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Book Review - Grow! How We Get Food From Our Garden - A Delightful Surprise

"Grow! How We Get Food From Our Garden" 
by Karl Beckstrand

This book was a delightful surprise. Based on the cover art and the pitch I was expecting a nice, informative how to on proper gardening technique for kids. You know the type, simple directions, maybe a diagram of a sprouting bean, talks about nutrition. Instead, I opened the book and fell into a poem stitched together from old Norman Rockwell counting books, calendars published by a seed company a century and a half ago, and a second grade reader from the mid 1970s'. 
This is a book about joy, about living your life and taking the most pleasure you can out of the simple things you find. the art is more stylized than is common in modern picture books like this, harkening back several decades.  There is something a little surreal about the root vegetables especially. Either they don't belong in our world, or more likely, we don't belong in theirs. 
The writing is poetry that bleeds into, not prose, but the common work-a-day lists that we use to keep our lives together, and the disjointed connections we make when we are trying to do our chores as quickly as possible. It leaves its flavor in your mind. 
As an adult it is hard to judge these children's' books sometimes. I do know that I would gladly read this book to my child. 

Disclaimer. I recieved a  free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. 

Humans are Weird - Upcycling

 Humans are Weird – Upcycling


“I am simply uneasy about the situation,” Quartermaster Husk said, his tail twitching in accompaniment, “I just need to grind the situation over with you before I approve the request.”
Commander Thresh gave an encouraging thrum from his secondary vocal chords when the quartermaster paused. Thresh knew very well exactly how soft his own scales were compared to the old Quartermaster. Husk’s scales had grown opaque long before Thresh was hatched. Moreover the old Gathering had dedicated himself to his calling of providing for the adventurous and the youthful spirited. Added to all of that Quartermaster Husk had been on one of the few ships that had encountered humans in the first days of their contact with the Galaxy at large and had been in near constant contact with them since. It would have been stone-brained for any Commander to just dismiss the Quartermaster’s concerns, let alone a Commander as new as Thresh was.
Still, it was clear that the older Gathering was by natural disposition, a disposition that had been strongly tempered by the experience of those first chaotic days of contact with the humans, far more than overly cautious. Therefore Commander Thresh listened intently to the long list of minor safety infractions that the current human population of the base had incurred over their stay.

"They are simply going to, what is the word they use, upcycle some expired equipment?" Commander Thresh glanced at the proposal. "It is considered safety equipment at that. There is nothing toxic or dangerous and every human is rated to safely dispose of pressurized containers. Added to this they proposed a slow, gradual release of pressure. They are also requesting the activation of every cleaning drone in preparation. It seems that every safety and hygienic measure is being proactively taken."

“Then there is their scent when they talk about it,” Quartermaster Husk said after a particularly slow and contemplative blink.
His tongue flicked out as if trying to recapture the memory of the smell.
“The smell is so very similar to the smell they give off when anticipating danger,” he said slowly, “not exactly the same, scent me here, but very, very close. I simply do not think that it would be safe to let this idea sprout.”
Commander Thresh hummed thoughtfully as he deliberately mulled over the arguments. It clearly wasn’t enough to forbid a moral boosting safety training exercise that everyone was so obviously willing to participate in. Clearly Quartermaster Husk understood this as well, the dejected slump of his shoulders showed that clearly enough. It also showed that he clung to his theory that the training session was going to go horribly wrong in some unscentable way.
The Commander drew in a deep breath and bobbed his head firmly.
“Authorize the session on my word and note your objections as clearly as you are able,” he said.
Quartermaster Husk flicked his tongue out in obedience. Having the decision made clearly relaxed him but he still looked uneasy.
“We will at the very least get good data on our newest allies out of it,” Commander Thresh said with a comforting wave of his tail. “Now I have to go inspect the outlying bases for predator safety. Hopefully the exercise will still be going on when I return and you can detail your concerns then with the aid of active observation.”
Quartermaster Husk gave a noncommittal grumble and Commander Thresh scrambled briskly away to his transport. The predator inspection left him as uneasy as ever. Not at the sight of any predator, but at the clearly murderous contraptions the humans insisted were basic predator defense. Granted they had not lost a single ranger to predation since they had implemented the human’s tactics but the buzzing of the electric fence alone was enough to set his scales tingling with empathetic stress for any poor creature that touched it. He arrived back at the base far later than he had expected and was pleasantly surprised to find that the indicators lights showed the exercise was indeed still in progress.
“Curious,” he muttered as he approached the main airlock.
The ground outside the airlock was dusted with a fine white powder and signs of freeze burns tinged the ground-cover that had been healthy when he left. His tongue scented that the dust was fire retardant. He grimaced in annoyance. How had the humans gotten waste product so far outside of the disposal area. He supposed the old quartermaster would be more than glad to fill him in. He ambled through the airlock and immediately noted the cacophonous noise from the far side. The airlock floor was covered in chemical fire retardant interrupted with broad swaths that looked like the cleaning drones had tried to remove it and had only marginally succeeded and the air was stale with extra carbon dioxide.
“Life support!” the commander snapped out. “Give me a carbon dioxide reading!”
The system exhausted a chemical profile for a fully safe and clear but it was overlapped with and indicator that the systems were having to overclock to maintain that state. The commander rushed through the final lock and froze as he looked out on chaos. Before he could begin to process what he was seeing a warm pair of hands scooped him up from under his forelimbs and deposited him under one of the benches the humans sat on to make putting their foot gear on easier.
“Safer under here Sir!” Assistant Quartermaster Smythe said with a sigh before sitting back down on the bench above them.
Commander Thresh was vaguely aware that Quartermaster Husk was grumbling something beside him. It was no doubt some variation of having told him so but the chaos that had taken his base was consuming the commander’s attention.
All obstructions had been moved out of the main hallway and the cargo doors had been thrown open. Someone had painted guide tracks seemingly randomly across the floor and what seemed like every disc shaped cleaning drone had been set loose in a sea of chemical fire retardant. Which might have made some level of sense he supposed. Except someone had gone to great lengths to set controlled fires alight on top of each and every drone. Dashing through this chaos, humans -more humans than he thought his base contained-perched in pairs and singly on the office chairs meant for their use and mobile benches meant for the use of the lower bodied Gathering. The humans appeared to be using the expired fire extinguishers as propulsion, explaining the sea of retardant that covered the floor. When a human managed to get near a flaming cleaning drone they would aim the extinguisher at the flame and hold it there until the propulsion of the escaping gas or chemicals pushed them away. The second human used an extinguisher in the opposite direction to counter but without apparent synchronization it seemed difficult to manage.
“Are they practicing putting fires out in zero gravity conditions?” The commander finally managed to gasp out, hoping that he sounded like a reasonable adult rather than the sun-stunned hatchling he felt like.
“I have no idea,” Quartermaster Husk grunted out as he rubbed his nose against a thigh to wipe off some retardant.
“Well,” Commander Thresh said with a tone of forced cheerfulness. “All the fires are nearly out so this should be over soon.”
“Takes them maybe two minutes to put the fires out,” Quartermaster Husk snapped.
“Then how are they still-” Commander Thresh began.
His question was interrupted as an extinguished cleaning drone rolled past them busily sucking up retardant. One of the single humans on an office chair rolled past, and with a whoop of glee sent a gout of flame pouring into the dish taped to the drone’s top. The flame seemed to come from an improvised device. The fireproof drone continued on its way dutifully with a fresh pillar of fire leaping from its dish. Delighted hoots from the paired humans followed as they tried to aim for the newly lit drone.
“What could go wrong?” Quartermaster Husk demanded in a grim tone.
“I begin to understand why my human colleagues fear that question,” Commander Thresh murmured.  

THE AMAZON
SECOND EDITION
OF THE
PAPERBACK
AND THE
FORMAL KINDLE EDITION
ARE NOW UP ON
AMAZON! 

Of course if you want a signed first edition you can email me at bettyadams@authorbettyadams.com and I can ship you a signed Author copy of the first edition for the same price as the crowdfunding campaign $35 domestic and $50 overseas. I'll do that until I run out of extra books.  

Humans are Weird - Heads Up

 Humans are Weird – Heads Up


No matter how well a space station was engendered, no matter how far technology advanced – at least so far as it had advanced so far – an inhabited space station was never quiet. The atmosphere had to be purified, plants rustled and filters hummed with air movement. The air had to be circulated. There was no such thing as a perfectly efficient fan. The very materials of the hull and superstructure would flex and bend minutely as the differences in temperature caused even the most stable of molecular bonds to expand and contract. Even when the frames were vented and ghosted along without air any species that had a concept of sound could hear the movement whenever their bodies, or rather space suits, made contact with the material of the station.
Most psychologists noted that this was probably for the best. They had as yet found any species that thrived in a truly silent environment. Even so called deaf species were used to the stimulation of some sort, carried on the gas or water they breathed. Even the space whales that the humans loved to observed could feel the pinging of the thinly spread atoms when they wandered out of the nebula and into the void. However if they lingered their too long they developed various neuroses that were nearly indicative of sapience they were so close to some of the common failings of more advanced brains. The various schools of psychology would occasionally note this, and for a few cycles the various Universities would be atwitter with fears of humans going mad from lack of audio stimulation and flights of Winged dispersing into the sound void. They would suggest solutions and experiments and it would usually all peter out as the various engineering departments would each in turn gently but firmly reminded the psychology departments that they were as far from developing a perfectly silent space station as their psych friends were from actually understanding Human Nature.
All of this was idly passing through the mind of Quilx’tch as he pattered along with his companion. The particular space station that had brought all of this to the base of his mental pounce as it were was a shiny new thing that the humans had built to their own specifications and tolerances and funded entirely from their own planet’s economy. The situation was hardly unexpected, with a mass three times that of the second largest species in the alliance the humans who chose to interact with the other species had needed to make accommodations that were often painful if not outright medically inadvisable.
Now Quilx’tch wondered if the Trisk bases the humans had visited felt as strange and imposing to them as this one did to him. He somehow doubted it. The mere sense of massive spaces all around him was intimidating in a way that no confinement could be. He caught the sound of his own appendages striking the spider walk echoing back at him from the distant walls and gave a shiver. His companion shivered in agreement and twitched his legs in the direction of the common room.
“Shall we find some companionship fit to fill this void?” his companion suggested in forcibly cheerful clicks.
Quilx’tch tapped his paws in agreement and they accelerated a bit in the direction of the outer hull. It was an odd design but the human insisted that all living quarters be on the exterior section of their great round structures. Their engineers said it was something about redundancy and being able to keep their calciferous inner skeletons functional with rotational momentum if the artificial gravitational generators ever went out. Given how simple and nearly indestructible even human antigrav systems were that was an odd reason to forego the protection of being in the center of a craft offered but the humans insisted.
Quilx’tch angled himself upward to glance at the indicator light and clicked in dissatisfaction to note that it was a deep amber. The humans in the common room were doing something dangerous enough to prevent the immediate entry of the smaller Trisk. That something was also producing a repeated pounding sound that was vibrating the deck plating beneath his paws. It was intimidating to be sure, but it was also the very welcome sound of live beings doing something. He and his companion passed into the safety lock and peered through the plasisteel barrier at what the humans were doing.
“Basket Ball!” his companion noted gleefully, raising his volume to be heard over the resounding noise made each time the ball stuck the floor or the wall. “I have never had a chance to see it preformed before.”
Quilx’tch clicked in agreement and crouched back on his rear motile appendages to watch the exchange. It was a very simple game in principle, he could think of pawfulls of example of similar games he had played in his youth, all of them several times more complex. The goal seemed to be to get a ball about the size of the humans’ head into a vector meet that was only two body lengths above the ground and in perfect parallel with it. A hatching game at best, if it were not for the fact that the game seemed to require another human or set of humans to actively provide challenging interference. Two humans were currently dodging about the flat surface which currently displayed comically oversized guide lines.
“Do you really think those vector and limiter lines are really necessary?” his companion asked. “Are they that vector blind?”
“Remember,” Quilx’tch said, “They only have two eyes, their vision is binocular and severely limited, and their hairs are almost useless for practical directionality.”
“And of course the mass of the ball itself is a factor,” his companion continued. “Still in proportion…”
His companion’s voiced stilled as the duo of humans began a slightly more intricate set of maneuvers that saw possession of the massive ball change several times without the humans once even brushing each other.
“Yes,” Quilx’tch continued the dropped thought, “in proportion to their mass and size it is a very simplistic game. Note however that they do not touch sensory hairs so that increases the challenge for them.”
His companion clicked in understanding as one of the humans suddenly broke away and bolted for the target vector meet. He tossed the ball and it failed, rebounding from the edge of the vector meet. The second human was right behind him and snatched the ball before tossing it up towards the vector meet.
“The human under the vector meet needs to move!” Quilx’tch suddenly clicked in horror.
“What is he doing! Human face structure is not sturdy enough to take such a blow!” His companion called out as they both darted for the emergency overide on the door.
They could only watch in horror however as the massive ball arched up and dipped perfectly down through the vector meet just as the human below lifted up his binocular eyes to watch its trajectory. The human’s slow reflexes meant that the ball slammed into his protruding nasal sensor just as it was fully extended.
The blow first turned the human’s head to the side and then twisted the entire bipedal form to the floor. Quilx’tch burst through the door clicking in distress with his companion close on his paws. However they stopped short as the sound the humans were making struck them. Both of the humans were laughing heartily as the uninjured human helped the injured one to his feet.
“Do you require medical assistance?” Quix’tch asked.
However it appeared that neither of the humans had noted their approach. To Quilx’tch’s dawning horror the injured human was beginning to leak bright read blood out of his nasal cavity, but instead of calling for the base medic he only reached up to compress the exterior of the cavity in a membrane crushing grip.
“Yo!” the uninjured human called. “Why are the indicator lights red?”
The injured human gave one of those deep grunts that could only come from mammalian lungs and swept his vision around the room before alighting on the two Trisk.
“Lil’buzzz!” the injured human slurs out as his smile caused a fresh line of red blood to streak down his lips. “Wazzuuu?”
“He said what’s up little buds!” the uninjured human said cheerfully as he strode over and held out his hands for them to jump up. “This is a dangerous game for you so I gotta get you back to the observation lock!”
“This is a dangerous game for you!” Quilx’tch insisted, so overwhelmed by the sight of the compressed membrane and the flowing internal fluids that he forgot his manners. “We need to get the injured human to the medical ward!”
“For a stupidity induced nosebleed?” the uninjured human scoffed. “We have gravity here. It’ll stop in a bit and we can limit the spread of biohazard fluids by staying here.”
The injured human nodded in agreement, causing the blood to smear further over his hands.
Quilx’tch stared at them both in horror and it apparently showed in his stance and the humans preformed that odd form of communication that only binocular species could.
“You’re puffed out like a kitten in a room full of rocking chairs lil’ guy,” the uninjured human finally observed.
“Ake oo haap I oe ediiii?” The injured human tried to speak.
“Would it calm you down if I took my friend here to the medical ward?” the uninjured human translated.
“Yes, yes it would,” Quilx’tch said firmly.
The uninjured human lifted them up to the spider walk and the injured human waved at them as the pair left the room. He used the hand he had been compressing his external sinus with however and this resulted in a fresh flow of blood from his nose that spattered on the floor triggering the biohazard alarms and gave them a good view of the internal fluids spread all over his hand.
Quilx’tch shuddered as the AI began to insist that they leave the contaminated common room until the automated cleaning systems had sanitized it.


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