Amalgam Universe

Shayde and Ambassador O’Ranges

or

Julie, Nanny and Ambassador O’Ranges

[AN: You didn’t say ‘xor’ :D ]

Julie was still moaning. A constant monotone that, Shayde could tell, was starting to get on everyone’s pec’s. She was huddled in Nanny’s lap. Nanny couldn’t do much for her but be a living teddy-bear and mutter “Good girl, good girl,” at random intervals.

“Puir babby…” Shayde muttered. “Puir wee pet…”

“Don’t do anything… too innovative?” Rael begged. He’d seen 'innovative’ just recently when she’d shadow-jumped a villain into a gibbering mess.

“No need,” she said. “We go’ what we need right here.”

And with that, she zoomed off to the other Dog in the gallery. Ambassador O'Ranges and his handler-assistant Aelki. Rael, caught off-guard, did not arrive to hear any of the fast and hushed discussion… but it resulted in Ambassador O'Ranges, or his alter-ego HitcherWolf, padding over to both artist and Augmented dog and asking, “D'you need hugs?”

Julie immediately became distracted by O'Ranges’ shaggy, fluffy fur.

O'Ranges sat on the floor so he could envelop both Julie and Nanny in an enormous hug. There was a perilous handful of seconds when they both almost vanished in the fuzz, but they re-emerged with smiles on their faces.

“Good dog,” said Nanny. “Good boy. You smell tasty.”

“Yeah,” O'Ranges agreed, tail wagging. “Barbecue cologne. Not for eats. For good smell.”

Aelki, who knew O'Ranges the best, murmured, “Do you have a pry bar in that coat of yours?” to Rael.

“Aw leave 'em fer a wee bit…” chided Shayde. “They need th’ warm fuzzies.”

There certainly hadn’t been a happier interaction between artist and audience in Rael’s recollection.

[Muse food remaining: 48. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

As one of the tech review magazines said a few years ago when the first 32 GB micro SD cards came out, “At last it is possible for a single human being to accidentally swallow all of the data collected by the Apollo Program.”

“This is it?” Shayde held aloft a crystal with a metal disk on one end. “All'o the survivin’ media from the twentieth century?”

“And some derivative works, yes,” said Rael. “

Code 19: There is a small child loose in the area.

“LOCKDOWN! LOCKDOWN!” Rodriguez checked all the small storage bays before she locked them. Kept her eyes and ears open for any trace.

No sticky residue. No smeared prints. No suspicious puddles of liquid. No sign that the progeny had been here. And that was the dangerous part.

“I thought human infants were helpless,” said Chor'i'za.

“Human infants, yes. But once they learn how to move, they

“Absolutely not! There is no way in-”

*human calmly peels and eats a banana*

“Er, whatever you say, sir.”

The Membletak did not adapt well to their new, human captains. They did not adapt well to the insanity of their commanding officers.

And they did not adapt well to illogical commands.

But Captain Millbury was prepared.

“Sir. The odds against surviving such a manoeuvre intact are astronomical to begin with, you can’t possibly expect the

An alien and a human with a Han and Chewbacca-esque relationship

(I don’t think Hwell counts, that looks more like babysitting)

[AN: Well, yes, but Hwell does spend large volumes of time making gurgling noises…]

Ruscis still couldn’t believe this was happening, but a duty was a duty and this… being… hadn’t left her side since the convoluted happenings that involved saving its life.

“You remember what I said,” Ruscis repeated. “

Turnabout is fair play: Something the aliens consider utterly mundane and/or harmless, that is dangerous or terrifying to humans.

It was a disaster. The freshly-introduced Ambassador Harry still hunkered in her improvised bunker of relatively solid furniture, butter knife held tight to her chest in a white-knuckled grip. The ability to speak had left her and she would slash or stab at anyone who came close.

Until Sui'dut came to sort out the mess. Sui'dut, the only alien Harry trusted on

Ridiculous fact of the day: We went to the moon before we thought to put wheels on suitcases.

Some things are essential for cogniscent development. The ability to control heat is one. Civilisation in any form is another.

It is impossible to have a planet where the entire population are dancers. People must eat. People must learn. People must make insipid sitcoms and nobody knows why.

But some things… don’t always happen in the correct order.

“Wait,”

“Aliens do not understand papercuts.”

The death world menace flinched, howling in agony. “Idonotfirkinbelievethis!” It dropped the weapon it was holding. “Agodsdamnedpapercut. Afterallthis, agodsdamnedpapercut…”

The huddling assembly of survivors blinked in confusion. This creature had survived toxic gas, lacerations, contusions, concussion, shock, awe, and extremes of temperatures… and now it was halted by a relatively minor injury to its apparently thick hide.

It wasn’t even bleeding, there.

Yet the creature stopped. Retreated,