Prompt

(unfortunate real-life inspiration time!)

Considering how the aliens react to comparatively non-corrosive/hazardous materials, they must have either gone into DEFCON 1 or completely catatonic the first time a human vomited.

Other humans making sympathetic noises and cleaning up  (*gasp* without even a hazard suit, the horror) while the aliens panic are completely optional

(No wonder the humans are insane, they’re full of hydrochloric acid strong enough to melt their own internal organs)

“We have lost spin,” said the Ch'ardva co-pilot.

“Oh no,” murmured Ambassador Patrice.

“You said this vessel never broke down,” wailed an aide, “that’s why we hired you!”

“There is first time for all, yes?”

Another aide was going through all their things, muttering, “Sick bags, sick bags,” to herself.

Patrice concentrated on her breathing. Picked something close. Something stable. Tried not to think about the mis-information her brain was giving her. Burped dangerously.

“The ambassador gets motion-sick,” said the first aide. “We didn’t want to cause any ups–”

Whoulp…

“Oooohhh…” winced the second aide, trying to net the flying globules with a terrycloth sack. “I am so sorry.” And gave her a piece of lemon peel to sniff.

Errant specks of effluvium landed on the more reactive parts of the Ch'ardva vessel. Where they sizzled.

Patrice finally got hold of a sick bag for the second round. 

“You spit out acid?”

“Mild acid,” corrected an aide. “It’s one of the survival reflexes - to purge unhealthy food.”

“At least the rest of us keep our acidic internals on the inside,” growled the pilot. “Contain that lot before it hits the rest of the ship!”

Diverse alarms blared the Ch'ardva crew scrambled for cover suits and hazard-vacs. Pretty much all of them grumbled about even allowing such dangerous beasts on their ship in the first place.

“For the record,” Patrice gasped between bouts of retching, “this is an entirely involuntary res–” burp “–sponse.”

“Next time, keep your human things to a human vessel. Do you have any idea how hard it is to protect against toxics like you?”

“We’ll run you a nice deal on human-proof materials,” promised the first aide. “Discount wholesale.”

[Muse food remaining: 43. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]

It took a surprisingly long time for the other cogniscients to realise how much /they/ scared the humans too.

Of course, some got the message more quickly than others

Lo-grav worlds are rarer than high-grav ones. For reasons that become quickly obvious the more one learns of physics and biology.

When low-gravity life evolves, it happens in artificial environments.

Which are also targets for scavengers.

The spider-people of H'nuf'ruf learned of humans through such expeditions. They never saw humans as dangerous, and

Everything was going swimmingly until someone pulled out a disco ball.

“The music’s nice and all, but there’s somethin’ missin’.”

“By now, I dare not ask,” deadpanned Rael. “Just accept that whatever it is is most definitely a bad idea and leave things alone for a change.”

“Aaaahh… What sort'a party would it be wi'out a disco ball?”

*

The answer to that question, especially with Meyahndans sharing

K'iiv and Del are adorable, how did they meet/begin their relationship?

K'iiv preened his plumage nervously. He hated meeting new people. All the good advice for conquering social anxiety never, ever worked. It was either completely wrong for the situation or just… completely wrong.

Nevertheless, he attempted to use them anyway.

Going into a situation without a plan was infinitely less preferable than going in with a bad one.

Today’s plan was, picture the stranger without their feathers

Because you can’t say Peter Lorre and not get my attention.  Something to do with an Uplifted pug or pugs.  Possibly freaking everyone out with their good intentions couched in their minion-ish voices. – weirdlet

(#00422 - A047)

Buddy, Igor knew, was not the best dog for the negotiations table. Buddy would literally say ‘yes’ to anything, provided someone was scratching his ear.

Igor… tried.

He had Buddy fitted up with the Diminished Responsibility locator bracelets, of

If no-one from the future comes back to stop you, is it really that bad an idea?

“Yes it is,” said Rael, gently shoving Ambassador Shayde onwards. “Especially when time travel is a theoretical impossibility trapped in the realms of science fiction.”

“They said tha’ about goin’ tae the moon. Now look at it.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Ach, why’d ye have tae

It turned out the galactic standard for things that screw onto other things was the opposite direction to the international Earth standard.

“What the– this screw isn’t turning.”

“It’s an old-Earth vessel.”

“Yeah? So?”

“They have it backwards. Counter-clockwise loosens their screws.”

Sigh. “Typical human insanity. How hard is it to learn ‘Counter time, fix it fine’?”

“Given the trouble they keep giving us

“We’re here to conquer yo-

Awww lookit the cute little fuzzy. Whooosa fuzzy.”

Sir, the aliens seem to have become distracted.

Only humans, they later said, could take a pursuit predator and make it completely servile. And for some time in the Galactic Alliance, it was something of a mystery as to where and when dogs originally hailed from.

Some refused to believe that such a useful animal could come from the same planet as “a bunch

Carbonated drinks: for most creatures, a harmless fizzy beverage.

However if your species happens to be incapable of burping to release the gas, a painful experience. Perhaps not deadly, but certainly not comfortable. 

Gox stared at the beverage. At the perpetual bubbles within. In his experience, bubbles came out and never came back.

This was one amongst the many new things he was dubious about encountering as a reluctant ambassador.

“Why do the bubbles form?”

“It’s a