LotS/The Story/Puny Human Birthdays/Intro

Zone Intro

"Good morning. I'm Adrian Zanfran, and I'm here to-"

"Die, puny human!"

"Excuse me?"

Adrian Zanfran was polite. It was how his mother had raised him. She'd always said that common courtesy wasn't nearly common enough, and that she expected her children to redress the balance. With such words of wisdom, along with the occasional slap whenever he erred in any particularly egregious fashion, Mrs. Zanfran had ensured that Adrian grew up with such values in his heart and mind. Hence the smile remained on his face as he asked the question, even though the receptionist's reply to his greeting and introduction had taken him somewhat by surprise.

His smile grew fainter when the Rylattu receptionist screamed instead of responding. Then fainter still when she reached under her desk, her wide eyes never leaving his. And when the receptionist raised a large, bulbous, garish gun, it died altogether. Adrian decided that he had better cast politeness to the wind if he didn't wish to suffer a similar fate.

He turned and ran. The receptionist screamed again.

A blast of hissing pink energy zapped past his left cheek. It hit the double doors he was sprinting for and burned clean through one of them -- leaving a smoking hole in its wake.

Adrian screamed. The receptionist screamed. Screaming seemed to be the order of the day.

Another pink blast flashed by -- this time on his right. He became aware of a certain lopsided sensation a fraction of a second before a disembodied arm flew into his line of vision.

He screamed again. So did the receptionist.

Adrian dived for one of the sleek white couches. He crashed down behind it as a third pink blast hissed across the lobby and made a fresh hole in the doors. In this temporary sanctuary, he glanced at his right shoulder. A seared and blackened mass of flesh marked where his arm used to be. This discovery did nothing to curtail his screams.

"Wretched stink-beast!"

He flopped over onto his back and stared up into the murderous receptionist's eyes. Then his gaze fell to the barrel of the absurd weapon in her hands.

"No! Please!" he wailed.

"You dare invade the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might? Taste our superior technology!"

"Wait!"

Adrian tried to raise his hands in a pleading gesture. But since one of his arms was lying across the room, he ended up making a ridiculous karate chop motion instead.

The receptionist fired. Her blast cut through Adrian's wrist, sending his chopping hand flying, and pierced the floor by his head.

He screamed. She screamed. Someone else shouted.

"Why are there holes in my door? And who left this inferior stink-beast limb on the floor?"

The receptionist span round towards the doors, one of which stood open -- hiding the speaker. She screamed. This seemed to be her standard response to most stimuli. Then she fired again.

A Rylattu with red skin and a purple jumpsuit stepped past the door. Then he ducked, just in time to avoid having his skull bestowed with a similar smoking hole.

"Kwix!" he exclaimed.

"Oh... Sorry, overlord."

She lowered her weapon. The newcomer stormed over to her.

"Is your head filled with waklak feces? Our lobby isn't for blaster practice!"

"I was destroying a sniveling human invader, overlord!"

"She tried to kill me!" Adrian said. Even as he spoke, it occurred to him that the words were somewhat superfluous.

"Silence, stink-beast!" the receptionist yelled.

She turned and raised her weapon. Adrian screamed.

"No!" the other Rylattu said. He grabbed at her arm.

She pulled the trigger. Terrible pinkness filled the weapon's maw. Then everything went dark for Adrian Zanfran.

• • • 
      

"I am a genius! The operation was a complete success!" Then the voice added, in a rather more disinterested tone: "Oh... And the wretched patient survived."

Adrian opened his eyes.

He was alive. That came as something of a surprise, but he couldn't doubt the evidence of his own eyes. He was certain heaven wasn't manned by Rylattu in medical uniforms. Hell, possibly. But people like him didn't go to hell! He was polite. And he went to church every Sunday. Or at least he would have done. The fact that he'd spent the last ten years living on a world without Sundays was hardly his fault...

Adrian sat up. The automated bed followed suit a second later. Its upper half tilted up and bumped him on the back of the head.

"We have rebuilt you using the superior might of superior Rylattu science!" declared a green-skinned medic.

"And spare parts we had lying around," a purple female added.

At that point, Adrian Zanfran became aware of a strange sensation in his arms. They felt sort of... wriggly. He raised his hands. Then he screamed.

"Silence, human!" the green doctor said.

"Tentacles!" Adrian cried. "I have tentacles!"

"Of course you have tentacles, foolish stink-beast! I attached them using my mighty surgical skills!"

"And I assisted," the purple one said, "using my not-quite-as-mighty-but-still-very-mighty assisting skills!"

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"Because your worthless limbs had been blasted from your stinking body!" the green doctor said.

"Why didn't you just stick them back on?"

"Tentacles are far superior to human arms, stupid monkey-spawn! You should be grateful!"

"I want my arms back!"

"Fine! Fine!" came a voice.

Adrian looked to the doorway. The Rylattu from the lobby, with red skin and a purple jumpsuit, stood there.

"How dare you reject the products of my genius!" the doctor yelled. "I should remove your puny brains and replace them with a wombat!"

"Silence! You will obey your overlord!"

"Yes, overlord." He sighed.

The red Rylattu moved into the room, revealing the figure who'd been standing behind him. It was the receptionist.

Adrian screamed. The receptionist screamed. The purple medic slapped him across the face. He stopped screaming. So did the receptionist.

"Ow! Why'd you do that!" Adrian rubbed his cheek. The tentacle was actually soft and soothing. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't at all slimy.

"In my xeno-medicine classes, I studied archaic holo-vids from the days when your ancestors were forced to exist in black and white. I learned that hysterical stink-beast females could be restored to their puny senses by means of a slap."

"An excellent discovery, nurse," the doctor said.

"Thank you, doctor."

"I'm not a female!" Adrian said, still rubbing his cheek.

"That can be fixed, wretched human!"

The nurse reached for a surgical saw.

"Not now!" the red Rylattu said. "We've already wasted far too much valuable time. Nurse, doctor, you may leave."

"Yes, overlord," they chorused.

The two medics departed, leaving Adrian with his former assailant and his savior.

"I am Barp Sek Bul, Supreme Editing Overlord at the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might. This is our mighty medical chamber, which is itself of considerable might."

"Why would a publishing house need medical facilities?" Adrian asked.

"Foolish stink-beast! What would happen if one of our employees were injured by a flying preposition? Or contracted a severe case of zeugma?"

"Oh..."

"This is Kwix, our receptionist."

The female stepped over to Adrian's bed. Her hands rose, revealing an object. Adrian Zanfran almost screamed out of habit. But this time she wasn't clutching a garish gun. She appeared to be holding some form of...

"I made you this mighty cupcake, a product of superior Rylattu baking, to apologize for blasting your wretched hide."

The cake was a sickly shade of yellow. And the black 'decoration' on top of the shining icing appearing to be writhing.

"Thanks," he murmured, "but I'm not hungry..."

"You will accept this cupcake and you will eat it!"

Adrian's tentacle shot out and grasped hold of the cake, lest the receptionist return to her previous homicidal ways. He crammed it into his mouth, and felt his teeth bite into something juicy, slimy, but not entirely unpleasant. The pieces wriggled and writhed on the way down his throat.

"Filthy humans aren't usually permitted in our mighty building," Barp said.

Kwix nodded.

"When I saw you," she said, "I thought you were another imbecilic stink-beast author who'd come to complain because we rejected the worthless excrement he'd submitted to us."

"She didn't know that I'd summoned you here. It is a great honor!"

Adrian glanced down at his tentacles.

"Yeah... An honor."

Then he brightened up. Having an arm and hand blasted off had been unpleasant, but work was work. And he really needed the credits.

"So," he continued, "you're hiring me?"

"Yes," Barp replied.

"Great! When do I start?"

"You will start immediately! Stop lazing around in that bed at once, or I'll withhold your pay and spend it on doomsday weapons to obliterate you with!"

Adrian threw the covers aside and jumped out of bed.

"First you will cover your disgusting human genitals!" Barp exclaimed.

The receptionist slid a hatch in the wall open, pulled out a short-sleeved jumpsuit, and threw it at Adrian. His tentacles proved rather dexterous, and he had the garment on in a matter of moments.

"Follow me!" Barp said.

He led the way out of the medical chamber, into the corridor beyond. Then he and Adrian went one way, and the receptionist the other -- presumably returning to her desk, where she could blast 'stink-beasts' to her heart's content now that the sole authorized member of the species was already inside.

"So, how long have you been a freelance human?"

"Huh?"

"It is a simple question!" Barp yelled.

Adrian was beginning to get the impression that volume was an important part of the work environment.

"Well, I've always been human..."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It must be a wretched existence."

"...but I've been a freelance editor since I graduated from university. So, that would be around ten-"

"What?" Barp stopped, and rounded on him. "The recruitment overlord said you were a freelance human! Do you think I'd hire a sniveling, insignificant stink-beast editor with radioactive feces for brains?"

"No?" was all Adrian could manage.

"I require the services of a professional human! If you cannot fulfill those duties, I'll have you disintegrated!"

"I... I can be a professional human."

"Good! Then you shall remain integrated!"

The overlord continued walking. Adrian Zanfran tagged along after him, wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into.

At the end of the passage, a door slid open to reveal a large room dominated by a long oval table. A floor-to-ceiling window consumed an entire wall, and displayed a soft sunset vista of the gleaming city beyond. Holographic projections of book covers were arranged in haphazard rows on the other walls. One of them, larger than the others, caught Adrian's eye. The animated picture showed a Rylattu dancing atop a human's smoldering corpse, beneath the words: Destroying Humans and Other Puny Species. Ah, yes... One of their bestselling titles.

"You will be seated!" Barp said.

The Rylattu dropped into a chair at one end of the table, and gestured for Adrian to take the one on his left. The 'freelance human' did so. Then Barp raised his wrist, which was adorned with a complex looking piece of tech, and pressed a button.

"The puny human has recovered from his unfortunate but amusing injuries," he said into the device. "Send in the other overlords for our meeting of ultimate might!"

"Yes, overlord!" a female voice replied.

Adrian and Barp sat in silence for several moments, until the human decided -- in adherence to his mother's edicts concerning politeness -- that he should try to make conversation.

"So, why is this place called the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might? It's an unusual name."

"Idiotic human scum-thing! Did Kwix scramble your brains like ragebeast eggs? We're called the Mighty Rylattu Publishing House of Ultimate Might because we're a Rylattu publishing house and our mighty might is ultimate! And mighty!"

"Oh. I see..."

The doors opened, and half a dozen Rylattu of various shades and hues entered. They each nodded to Barp before sitting down. One or two glanced at Adrian, before apparently losing interest in him.

Barp Sek Bul stood.

"Fellow overlords," he said, "today we begin our master plan to increase sales in human space! As we all know, few wretched humans have purchased our books..."

"Puny humans!"

"Disgusting stink-beasts!"

"Maybe their brains are infested with devouring worms!"

"We should exterminate them all!"

Adrian grimaced as the overlords expressed their opinion of his species. He hoped he wasn't about to get blasted again...

"No! No!" Barp said. "Although it would be simple and enjoyable to eradicate the stink-beasts, we should instead take their credits to enhance our mighty wealth! That's why I've brought Adnan Zebra-"

"Adrian Zanfran."

"Silence, or I will destroy you!" The Supreme Editing Overlord glared at him, before turning back to his peers. "That's why I've brought A-drain Zanzibar here to help us understand how the insignificant and worthless humans think."

"Bah!" a blue overlord exclaimed. He banged his three-fingered fist on the table. "What qualifications does he have?"

"He is a freelance human, trained from birth to be a stink-beast!"

"He does look very human," a green female said. "He bears the same ape-like features and look of abject stupidity."

"Precisely!"

"Then tell us, stink-beast... How can we make your puny species buy our superior literature?"

"Um... Well... I... Maybe..."

"The human knows nothing! We should destroy him and feed his remains to a krakak swarm!"

"What about... holidays! People love to buy their friends and family books for special occasions!"

"Humans have holidays? But your species is so inferior and slovenly! Any further laziness would cause your wretched civilizations to collapse beneath their own worthlessness!"

"Tell us about these holidays," Barp commanded.

"Well... There's Christmas."

"I've heard of this 'Christmas'," the blue overlord said. "Humans believe that a grossly fat stink-beast wearing red fur travels across the stars, distributing gifts on the basis of a moronic system of binary morality!"

"I see..." Barp Sek Bul's eyes glimmered. "This fat human could become an important customer... Adriax, do you know him?"

"No, I... He doesn't even..."

"Then what good are you?"

"But... Wait!" Adrian shrieked, as the overlord reached under the table. "What about... about... birthdays?"

"Birthdays?"

"Yes! Christmas only happens once a year, but stink-beasts... I mean, we... all have birthdays at different times! If people bought your books as birthday presents, it'd give you more sales every day!"

"What are these 'birthdays'?" the green female asked.

"Each year we celebrate the date we were born on. We have parties, and people give us presents."

"And how do you earn these gifts?"

"By... Well, by getting older, I suppose."

"Preposterous! You earn presents simply because you haven't been disintegrated yet?"

"Humans must be even punier than we imagined," Barp said, "if surviving for another year is treated as an achievement worthy of reward. No matter! We can turn this stupid stink-beast tradition to our advantage! Adrum, what books would members of your pathetic species buy for these birthdays?"

"Oh... Well... It depends... I mean..."

"The stink-beast is procrastinating!" the green female cried. "He's trying to keep his sniveling species' birthday secrets from us! We should torture the truth from his puny mind with lasers and gwilax beasts!"

"No!" Barp said. "I believe his inferior human intellect is merely incapable of providing the information we desire in a timely fashion! Remember that he lacks the mighty mental powers of a Rylattu!"

"Ah, yes..."

"We are indeed mighty!" another overlord added.

"We shall give Adrunk a chance to avoid disintegration," Barp continued. "He will be given access to a terminal, and produce an information package on the nature of human birthdays. Then we can begin our mighty plan of ultimate publishing doom, by targeting these celebrations."

"That's kind of a broad subject," Adrian said. "I-"

"Shut your stink-hole, human! You will do as you've been commanded or I will have you incinerated!"

"Oh... Yes, sir... I mean... Yes, overlord."

A few moments later, Adrian found himself deposited before a terminal's holographic screen. He worked its keyboard with his tentacles' suckers, researching the rather broad and overwhelming subject of human birthdays whilst wondering why he'd ever applied for this job in the first place.