A human child, hearing a loud bang, finds an alien who looks, at least to the human, like a medium sized dog that's hurt. The child picks up the alien to bring them home and then gives them a bath since they were covered in mud and sticks. The alien wakes up realizing they're now wrapped up in bandages, stuck in what looks like a makeshift "hospital gown", and the child is rocking the small bed they were put in, reading them stories in a children's "my first" storybook. -- Anon Guest
Go hiking on Ruggedia, they said. It's a sparsely-populated Deathworld, they said. All of them are isolationists, but they're relatively friendly, they said. And then they said the worst thing they could say: "What could go wrong?"
The universe hates questions like that. It is very willing to provide answers. Painful, educational, and above all demonstrative answers. You want to know what could go wrong? This, that, some of this, and a whole steaming pile of excrement in your face. It started with an earthquake, then there were bats, snakes, and a strong wind that the data services insisted was not a hurricane.
Poflid Leez remembered falling down some unstable scree. The world turning about and losing coherence as she lost consciousness. She had not gone out into a wilderness unprepared. There were alert systems in place in case of medical, emotional, or physical distress. This event counted as all three. Leez could only hope that someone heard the automated call and arrive before another disaster struck her.
The next memories were a jumbled fog. Two voices, one natural and the other artificial, the words that floated through were in Medik[1] and confusing in their isolation. Something warm. Carrying her. A song, in one of the Terran English variants[2]. Leez couldn't understand much of it, but she understood it was meant to be a lullabye. Bobbing... no... rocking back and forth. Somewhere soft and warm.
Leez next came to consciousness in a playroom, in a toy cradle more than adequate for her size. Someone was reading painfully slow.
"You... have.... br-ayns... in your... head..." The person reading was a rather small Human. One of the roughest, toughest, maddest, and most confounding Deathworlders available. "You... have... feet... in your... sh-ooos..."
Leez tried to be rational. If a Deathworlder wanted to kill, she would be dead by now. Such a charming thought to wake up to. This Deathworlder had gone to the trouble to patch up her injuries and bring her to a place of relative safety[3]. She cleared her throat and attempted some GalSimple. "Self thanks? Where is being?"
The Human gasped. "Nuyuwazmajik," they murmured. Then turned to a different app on their datareader and recited. "Wel-come... fr-end. You... is... many... hurt. Da... out hun-ting. Ma... drove-ing. Self... call... for help." A disturbing display of teeth. This Deathworlder was proud of themself.
It was a slow and awkward conversation, since Human Dru was evidently under orders to practice his reading. The disaster was under control. All citizens of Ruggedia were taught essential wilderness survival skills from an age of understanding. A child of Ruggedia could start a campfire, build a lean-to, and treat a variety of injuries before they could read. As evidenced by Human Dru's clear expertise.
The food was stew, but with the potential bad stuff picked out. Human Dru could tend the fire, but his mother didn't trust him with full food preparation yet. Dru said they "check'd t' nets" for what Leez could safely eat.
On one hand, this was doing wonders for her epigenetics. On the other hand... it was doing little for her ego. Human Dru kept absently calling her a 'doggy' and treating her as something between a pet and a doll. Dru did acknowledge the needs of a Havenworlder in general, and Leez's requests in particular. It was still somewhat mortifying to have tea parties as part of her recovery plan.
Human Dru acquired justified praise when the parentals returned just as the Medik team arrived from the nearest station. With every concerning factor in context, he had done very well.
[1] Some professions have their own verbal shorthand. For example, 'stat' for 'hurry up'. Over time, they can become a language of their own.
[2] Deep time colonies create their own language, accents, and so on. Just look at the difference between the USA and Broad Australian... both initially English colonies.
[3] Safety is always relative when there's a Deathworlder in the room.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / ArtistAllen]
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