By my antlers. I would get room next to this loud mouthed … Lizard? No…no scales…Sorta reddish, but not enough to be a lobster. Probably another damn Human.
Let me look on the map on the inside of my door for the nearest Airlock…oh good.
Oh, Rockford…I can still see your smile when you out-gassed that postal inspector on BakedZiti Six.
(small tear rolls down the mighty moose cheek)
Now to get this Ronco Memory Adjuster set properly.
One Size fits all? Antlerless Bastards…
“Who’s that angry oompa-loompa?”
Dakota mumbled acknowledgement. Then looked up from her emulator at Browf, then at the orange-skinned humanoid, then back at Browf. “Damned if I know, but I didn’t expect you to know what an oompa-loompa is…”
“There’s no substitute for the classics, Dakota…” said Browf
“I know right, Gene Wilder was a class act.”, returning to her ancient match-3 game.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN NEAR A ROPE! This is a witch-hunt!
Damn! I’d hire. I wouldn’t PAY you, but I’d hire you.
Theodore looks at the princess salaciously.
[**Ahem pardon me, but shouldn’t y’all be heading over to The Mess of the Coleridge after registration?]
Name: Ester
Race:
[X] Space Human
[ ] Space Lizard
[ ] Space Moose
[ ] Space Lobster
[ ] Other (explain)
Preferred training format:
[ ] SpaceTube Videos
[ ] Hands-on demonstrations
[X] Implanted memories
[ ] Interpretive dance
[ ] Lecture hall, midterm, and final exam
[ ] Waive the recommended training sequence (explain)
Background check (optional)
Tell us a little bit about yourself and why you've chosen to apply today!
X Greetings... I mean "Hello"... I am called Ester. I am a Space Human. I have been drifting through space since my ship was destroyed. Unfortunately I had to leave my purse and the pockets on my Space Jeans are uselessly small so I have no identification, Star Bux, Space Bux, or Space Credit. I do not quite recall what my previous job or function was aboard the ship, but while drifting my self-diagnosis programs indicated that I may have many skills and functions that should prove rather suitable for Deep Space Salvage. This conclusion was not based on the fact that this is the only place I calculated would likely hire me.
Accepted applicants will be stationed aboard the next outbound deep salvage
vessel. While on board, applicants will receive their preferred training regimen,
private quarters, and sufficient nutrition to sustain all life functions in exchange
for services provided.‡WTF is with all the dancing.
I may not be cut out for his job…
“Nevertheless, you do cut a fine rug with those two left uh hooves of yours.”
[sotto voce]
Shorter human: “So, um, how many have we got so far?”
Taller human: “Umm…looks like…sixteen? Not too bad, considering.”
Shorter human: “What about the others? Are they really reading the fine print?”
Taller human (checking notes): “You mean @agfish and @peregrinus_bis? I suppose they might be taking a little extra time for the sake of appearances, but nobody ever really reads that stuff.”
Shorter human: “Well I wish they’d hurry up. We’re less than 24 hours out from the launch window for the Coleridge and I still need to make my quota.”
Taller human: “What about that other fellow that’s been lurking about?”
Shorter human: “You mean @bizmail_public?”
Taller human: “Strange chap. Hasn’t even asked for a clipboard. Who knows? People get weird on NeoTarsus.”
Name: Hans Landau
Race:
Space Human
Space Lizard
Space Moose
[ X] Space Lobster
Other (explain)
Preferred training format:
SpaceTube Videos
Hands-on demonstrations
Implanted memories
Interpretive dance
[X ] Lecture hall, midterm, and final exam
Waive the recommended training sequence (explain)
Background check (optional)
Tell us a little bit about yourself and why you’ve chosen to apply today!
I germinated human in a Shaper greenhouse, cultivated by the Ring Council to be their perfect human genetic equilibrium. Fascists. I defected to the chaos of the Czarina-Kosmo cluster. Unconstrained by the imposed need to be human, I lept to the the Fourth Prigoninic level of Complexity. Cooperation, but not equilibrium. Nothing lasts.
Czarina-Kosmos’s fantastic success inevitably exploded. I fled in a carapace. My biology formed a pseudo-equilibrium with my cybernetic shell and multi-potent claws. A new faction coalesced in my orbit. We terraformed Mars. I was the “Lobster King.” Cooperative, alarming, and sometimes brilliantly competitive, we never bothered with equilibrium. We built, smashed, and seized the next Level of Complexity.
Self-interested co-operations coalesced and dissolved and became ever more subtle - always fruitful, never in equilibrium for long.
Now I find myself in Charybdis, past travesties and triumphs not worth mentioning. What can we accomplish, today, together?
X
Shorter Human: “Is that the last of them? Did they all make it to the shuttles?”
Taller Human: [squinting]: “Looks like it. How many did you sign?”
Shorter Human: “Eleven.”
Taller Human: “What?! We were only supposed to approve organic sentients for this mission…”
Shorter Human: “Look, we get commission for every bunk that gets filled and I need the money.”
Taller Human [aghast]: “How many murderbots did you send aboard that ship? Two? Three??”
Shorter Human: “I think the preferred term is ‘cyborg’. And yes, I approved all three. They might wind up being assets on this journey. Or they might kill everyone. Not my cybermonkeys, not my space circus.”
Taller Human: “But the little girl in the princess outfit? Surely you just accepted her application in good humor, right?”
Shorter Human [deadpans]: “You’re new to Charybdis, aren’t you?”
Our new hosts, Mr Kidd and Mr Wint, I presume.
@codinghorror Please close this thread at your leisure.
