Human: We're going to die.. it's over, we're done for.... I'm.. so tired.
Havenworlder: Stop that, we're NOT going to die, you're the human, you're supposed to be comforting me!
Human: I can't do this anymore.. I want to go home, this is hopeless it's over....it's over.. it's over...
Havenworlder: I beg forgiveness in advance for this! - gives the human a sharp slap! -
Human: -- startled --
Human: Sorry... sorry... yeah.. needed that... c'mon, little brother, let's go home together.
Havenworlder, sad they did that: "I'm sorry, too. I love you too, yes, let's go home alive, together." -- Anon Guest
Neither Grof nor his Human sibling Parb mentioned the fact that the slap was more of a shock to Parb than a pain. Grof's hand stung, but it was not worth mentioning. "Remember," he said. "Look at the problem, think about the problem, solve the problem." It was an old mantra, from the time that they were both very small and confused and welded into a patchwork family.
Parb started chanting the word, "Okay," to themself as they looked around, assessing the situation and what they had to hand. Grof braced himself for an act of inspired desperation at its purest. When necessity caused invention, it was inevitably a mother. A final, "Okay!" was triumphant.
Parb had a plan. Grof could almost relax. When a Human had a plan, the odds of everyone getting out alive increased. However, the phrase "getting out alive" often had painful caveats. The good news was that a life of being sibs meant that Parb had laser-guided accuracy as to what Grof could tolerate. What was coming to shape under Parb's rapid hands was not a weapon, but some form of PPE[1].
Grof knew some of these ingredients. Fabric. Charcoal. Safe fibrous fluff. As it came together into a Grof-compatible mask, he had to ask. "Why are you building me an air filter?"
"So high, we can't get over it. So wide we can't go around it... but we can get under it." Porb pulled some old waders on over their clothes, re-enforcing the tears on it with their remaining ductape[2]. "I can stand the stench. You can't. There's volatiles in there that would make you sick. I'll just be grossed out."
Gorf was feeling more than a little grossed out himself. "And how far under will we be going?"
"There's emergency evac pods on the beach. That's half a click, straight-line."
Gorf started looking up the sewer system map on his own datareader. There was something Porb wasn't telling him.
"Okay, so it's more like a click by tunnel. Including vertical. The mask should be good for that long and I'll want to bathe for like three hours after we get out, but Mom will take care of everything afterwards."
"The way the stories go, I expected you to whip up a weapon from a lighter and a gas canister."
"One, I'm a Human raised by Havenworlders. It's not in my base knowledge pool. Two, we're still kids and if Mom found out we were making weapons she would kill me. Three, they always say, don't try this unsupervised. We are definitely unsupervised."
"Not my fault you didn't want the invaders reading your diary."
"Let's just focus on getting outta here? Argue later. Survive now."
Now that was a very Human mantra. So, guessed Gorf, was the mumbled, "I can do this, I can do this, I'm the big bad Human of the family, I can do this..."
Porb could do this. And did. Though they were a stenchy mess by the time they arrived at the evacuation ship waiting in orbit. Soon, they would all be watching Pax Humanis work their miracles from the safety of an emergency habitat.
After Mom chewed them out for delaying during an emergency, of course.
[1] Personal Protection Equipment, whether for the wearer or from the wearer is negotiable.
[2] Some confusion over the name of a fabric-backed omnipurpose adhesive tape has lead to a compromise in the Alliance.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / bitontawan02]
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