
Christmas!! Yea!! What fun it is!! Think of
the wunnerful snow. The cool ice. The
big tree and all the presents.
And the tall, feathered... alien... starship
Captains...
(I'm absolutely positive the avian fur fans are gonna
*love* this one.)
.
.
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
>>>>> The Big Bird Santa Claus <<<<<
© Fred Brown, Sept 22/2002 (rev. Jul 29/14)
Author's Note: Permission has not been received for the use of the trademarked Sesame
Street name, or the characters. Please don't send Oscar the Grouch over to chew my
tail off. :- )
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This copy is in a clearer, better-readable font, and can only be read on CYAN screens.
The Standard text copy that's readable on dark screens is here: The Big Bird Santa Claus (Standard text)
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
=============================================================================
"You look like Big-Bird," Cindy Sherman giggled. "Only your feathers are
orange."
"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Ximerfell-Captain said calmly.
They were in the Sherman's living room. A huge Christmas tree sat
fragrantly in the corner, groaning under the weight of colorful decorations
and blinking lights. Cindy had just walked in.
The tall alien dipped his beak towards Sam, Cindy's father.
"What in the name of Saturn's rings is a 'Big Bird?" Ximerfell-Captain
asked in a low, cautious twitter.
"A character in a childrens television show. It's a good thing," Sam
whispered back.
"You don't sound like Big Bird though," the six-year-old giggled again.
"Oh? What does Big Bird sound like?" tweeted the two-meter tall
ersatz emu. The neck was shorter, the head larger with a long beak, and
the short wings ended in finger-like stiff feathers that could grasp and
hold things.
"Oh, let me show you!" Cindy squealed, then made a dash for the
DVD player. She fumbled with a stack of disks, and found one. She
popped it in the tray and slammed her small hand against the play button.
Then she turned and rushed for the television mounted on the wall and
turned it on.
The little girl spun around and plopped down two feet in front of the
60-inch screen, eyes wide, her racing done.
Ximerfell-Captain's head stopped spinning from trying to follow the
energetic child. "Your younglings move so fast, Sam," Ximerfell-Captain
said quietly. "Ours can't even walk until they're five sols old."
"Sols. Five solar revolutions. That's five years," Sam replied. "She was
toddling after one year."
The man, the child, and the alien watched a minute or so of Elmo,
then Big Bird appeared with some children.
"That's him! That's him!" Cindy squealed.
"Oh. I see. Hmmm. Looks a bit like my sixth-nestling-hindmother, twice
removed," Ximerfell-Captain observed.
"Huh?" Cindy said, twisting around in puzzlement.
"One of my relatives,"Ximerfell-Captain said dryly.
"Oh," Cindy said, and turned back to the screen, rapt.
"And a royal pain in the pin-feathers. And I mean that literally,"
Ximerfell-Captain whispered to Sam.
Sam laughed. "Let me report in. You seem to have a fan in Cindy."
"That's why you, a sociologist, invited me to Christmas Eve dinner,"
Ximerfell-Captain murmured. "We have to get to know each other. Mission
accomplished. Or on the way to being."
Sam keyed the intercom unit on his wrist. He wore a compact
headset with an inconspicuous mike. A miniscule vidcam was mounted
above one ear like a pen.
"Sam here," Sam said, soto voce. "Cindy loves him. She thinks he
looks like Big Bird."
In his earpiece, Carol Jundersen's voice laughed in a lilting Swedish
accent.
"Now that's going to make my bosses happy," Jundersen said,
sounding relieved. "After the Turkevar fiasco they had their worries."
The back room in the basement had been filled to the ceiling with all
manner of video, sound, communications, and computer equipment. And
the three-person United Nations Contact Team to run it all. The whole
dinner would be monitored and recorded, with the Ximerfell's permission.
"So the Turkevar have claws and teeth to make a tiger run away,"
Sam said. "That's not their fault. Their sense of humour is great."
"Sure scared the snot out of the kids in China."
"Yeah. Pity. But the Russian kids liked the Turkevar. Thought they
were just big wolves with purple fur."
"Refreshing compared to the Oeyvina. Predator squids with claws 'n fangs?
And incredibly good diplomats? Wow."
"Signing off. Gail will have dinner ready soon. I'm going to go help
and leave Cindy to play with Ximerfell-Captain."
"Okay on this end. Send us a plate or two when you carve the turkey.
One day early, but special occasion, eh?"
"Will do."
Sam keyed off and looked at Ximerfell-Captain. For sure, they'd made
certain to check the menu with the Ximerfell first. The idea of having a
bird over for dinner, then eating a bird for dinner, could have been a
problem.
But the Ximerfell ate meat too. Hey, protein is protein, they had said.
Where you get it is none of our business. So long as we don't end up
snacking on each other everything's fine.
Sam smiled thinly. No doubt certain unscrupulous execs at Kentucky
Fried Chicken were wondering how well the Ximerfell might fit in a
cardboard bucket.
But that would probably be a decided breach of diplomatic immunity.
The giant ship had cruised into the solar system six months ago,
broadcasting greetings on every frequency in the electromagnetic
spectrum from radio to X-rays, even to semaphore code with giant
blinking red lasers.
After communications had been established and everybody had
gotten over the shock, the United Nations had stepped in and taken
charge.
The Ship was on an economic and political mission to welcome Earth
into the Galactic Union. And not one but dozens of different types of aliens
emerged from the shuttlecraft that landed in New York, Washington,
Beijing, London, and elsewhere. The aliens were nothing if not ferocious
tourists.
There was more life and other races in the galaxy than anybody could
count. And now humans were being invited to take part in the community
of worlds that was the GU. This would be a tricky process. Serious
understatement, there.
"I'm going to help Gail in the kitchen. Cindy, can you play with
Ximerfell-Captain for a while?" Sam asked.
"Sure," Cindy said, and looked at Ximerfell-Captain. "Do you want to
play with me?" she asked shyly.
"Of course I do," Ximerfell-Captain said cheerfully. "Can't think of
anything better to do until we eat dinner."
"I'm just a little kid," Cindy said slowly. "Are you sure you won't be
bored? I know you're a lot smarter than me."
Ximerfell-Captain reached up with a wing and gestured. "Nope. Cross
my heart and hope to die."
Thank the gods for the briefing on body language, Ximerfell-Captain
thought. It made the problem of communication so much easier.
But that problem would be solved tonight. Or so Ximerfell-Captain
hoped. Unconsciously, he patted his belly-pouch where Cindy's Christmas
gift was hidden.
Oh yes, a lot of problems would be solved after tonight. Assuming,
that is, that the Ship's Computer had read these humans correctly.
And if not...?
Ximerfell-Captain suppressed a shiver. Captains get paid to take
risks. Keep repeating that slogan, over and over, until you believe it.
What a stupid slogan, Ximerfell-Captain thought sourly to himself.
"Come on up to my room and I'll show you all my Sesame Street
stuff," Cindy chirped. She turned and scooted for the stairs.
A minute later, the little girl and the alien were sitting on Cindy's bed
poring over a Sesame Street coloring book. Cindy was proudly turning
pages and chattering brightly.
"And this is Elmo, he's my favourite, he's so funny and red and furry,
an' he's just a little kid like me, I want to meet him someday when we go
on vacation next summer and this is..."
Ximerfell-Captain nodded and tweeped appropriately for a few
moments. Then he opened a telepathic channel.
"[Do you have enough to synthesize and fool the surveillance?]"
Ximerfell-Captain asked.
The little computer in Cindy's 'gift' woke up. "[Yes. All they'll see is us
looking at the colouring book,]" it said.
"[Good work. Give me two minutes.]"
"Cindy, may I ask you something?" Ximerfell-Captain cut in, when the
little girl finally had to pause for a breath.
"What?" Cindy asked, her blue eyes looking up.
Ximerfell-Captain bent lower a bit. "Would you like one of your
Christmas presents one night early? I did bring you one, you know."
Cindy's eyes opened wide. "Ohhh, do you have Christmas too where
you come from?"
Ximerfell-Captain chuckled. "No, but it's always polite to bring a gift
when you visit someone. I just thought I'd make it a Christmas present.
Do you want it now?"
The Ship's Computer had calculated the probability of her saying no
to be...
"Oh yes, yes, yes, yes!!!" Cindy squealed happily, and began
bouncing up and down on the bed.
...Far smaller than zero. "All right," Ximerfell-Captain smiled (or on
his beak it looked like a smile). "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."
The little girl scrunched her eyes tight and held out both hands in a cup.
This was it. Ximerfell-Captain pulled the gift out of his pouch and
placed it in Cindy's hands.
The marble-sized machine went to work. A microscopic probe
painlessly injected the dose of genetically engineered bacteria. The
synthetic microorganisms poured into Cindy's bloodstream, skipped
through the blood-brain barrier as if there wasn't one, and went straight
to the pre-planned target sites in her brain.
Before the little girl had time to open her eyes, the artificial lifeforms
had constructed the neural network necessary for telepathy. Then they
died and vanished.
The computer opened a channel and began the data dump.
Knowledge rushed over the link. Floods and floods of knowledge.
Whole libraries worth. Every scrap of information and data the Ship's
Computer could think of, that might be valuable, had been compressed
and stored and put into a form the little girl's mind could use.
To call it an avalanche would've been another understatement. Cindy
stiffened. Ximerfell-Captain watched carefully.
But it was over in moments. Ximerfell-Captain held his breath.
Slowly, Cindy opened her eyes and looked up steadily at
Ximerfell-Captain, no longer with the gaze of a six-year old.
She opened a telepathic channel.
"[In a fraction of a heartbeat, you have given me vast knowledge of
the Universe,]" Cindy said coolly. "[You have changed me, and robbed me
of the next few years of my childhood with this knowledge. Why?]"
Ah yes: Right here. If it was all going to fall into the Sun and
explode, it would start right here...
"[Use what you now know to answer that,]" Ximerfell-Captain said
calmly (though hardly so on the inside). "[The answer is a simple one.]"
Cindy thought for a long second. Then she blinked. "[Oh. Right. The
First Contact problem.]"
Ximerfell-Captain nodded. "[Wherever you go in the Universe, you're
going to meet alien cultures that are either at your technological and
social level, above your level, or...]"
"[...Below your technosocial level.]" Cindy finished slowly. "[In which
case you run the risk of destroying that alien culture by even so much as
letting them know you exist. They're roadkill, deer in the headlights, their
entire society destabilized and demolished by the torrent of new technology
and knowledge.]"
Cindy stared up at the alien bird. "[Hey, wait a minute! That's us,
isn't it?]" she said in horror. She reached up and felt her forehead.
"[Telepathy, for God's sake. That alone is going to kick over sooo many
applecarts...]"
"[Not if we can help it,]" Ximerfell-Captain cut in sharply. "[We've
been in the First Contact business for a long time. This is the solution the
Ship's Computer has recommended.]"
Cindy's jaw dropped in disbelief. "[What, dropping gigatons of data
into the minds of children? Without a milligram of consent? What the hell
kind of a solution is that?]" she squeaked in outrage.
Ximerfell-Captain twittered sharply, the human equivalent of a wry
laugh. "[And if we did it to adults?]"
Cindy opened her mouth. Then paused. Then shut it glumly.
"[Ho-kay, point for you. Destabilization, all over the landscape. Whoever
gets the treatment becomes as like a god, knowledge-wise. And who
decides who gets it, and what knowledge, and at what price? And
culturally it sucks. 'Hi, we're super-smart aliens from outer space. Stick
your ignorant brains into this magic box for a second. We can fix you.']"
Cindy shuddered. "[Hope you guys have body armour that's good
against hydrogen bombs. You might need it with us.]"
"[Like I said, not if we can help it,]" Ximerfell-Captain murmured
serenely. "[Remember now, I did say this was a Christmas gift. Although
certainly not an obvious one.]"
Cindy looked blank. "[Think it through,]" Ximerfell-Captain urged.
Cindy reflected. "[Well, I now know everything there is to know about
the Galactic Union,]" she said slowly. "[I could travel to any planet,
around any star, and I'd have everything I need to know at my fingertips.
Everything about it's people, the society, the languages, the politics, the
economy..."]
Cindy put a small finger to her chin in a gesture that was in no way
the gesture of a child.
"[And when I grow older, I could do such traveling, couldn't I?]"
Cindy mused.
Then it hit her, and the human child looked up at the alien, mixed
wonder and awe in her eyes.
"[That's the gift, isn't it?]" Cindy breathed with joy. "[You have given
me the stars!!]"
"Merry Christmas, Cindy," Ximerfell-Captain whispered fondly out
loud to the new human diplomat.
--- Fin.
Jul 30/14
=============================================================================
the wunnerful snow. The cool ice. The
big tree and all the presents.
And the tall, feathered... alien... starship
Captains...
(I'm absolutely positive the avian fur fans are gonna
*love* this one.)
.
.
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
>>>>> The Big Bird Santa Claus <<<<<
© Fred Brown, Sept 22/2002 (rev. Jul 29/14)
Author's Note: Permission has not been received for the use of the trademarked Sesame
Street name, or the characters. Please don't send Oscar the Grouch over to chew my
tail off. :- )
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This copy is in a clearer, better-readable font, and can only be read on CYAN screens.
The Standard text copy that's readable on dark screens is here: The Big Bird Santa Claus (Standard text)
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
=============================================================================
"You look like Big-Bird," Cindy Sherman giggled. "Only your feathers are
orange."
"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" Ximerfell-Captain said calmly.
They were in the Sherman's living room. A huge Christmas tree sat
fragrantly in the corner, groaning under the weight of colorful decorations
and blinking lights. Cindy had just walked in.
The tall alien dipped his beak towards Sam, Cindy's father.
"What in the name of Saturn's rings is a 'Big Bird?" Ximerfell-Captain
asked in a low, cautious twitter.
"A character in a childrens television show. It's a good thing," Sam
whispered back.
"You don't sound like Big Bird though," the six-year-old giggled again.
"Oh? What does Big Bird sound like?" tweeted the two-meter tall
ersatz emu. The neck was shorter, the head larger with a long beak, and
the short wings ended in finger-like stiff feathers that could grasp and
hold things.
"Oh, let me show you!" Cindy squealed, then made a dash for the
DVD player. She fumbled with a stack of disks, and found one. She
popped it in the tray and slammed her small hand against the play button.
Then she turned and rushed for the television mounted on the wall and
turned it on.
The little girl spun around and plopped down two feet in front of the
60-inch screen, eyes wide, her racing done.
Ximerfell-Captain's head stopped spinning from trying to follow the
energetic child. "Your younglings move so fast, Sam," Ximerfell-Captain
said quietly. "Ours can't even walk until they're five sols old."
"Sols. Five solar revolutions. That's five years," Sam replied. "She was
toddling after one year."
The man, the child, and the alien watched a minute or so of Elmo,
then Big Bird appeared with some children.
"That's him! That's him!" Cindy squealed.
"Oh. I see. Hmmm. Looks a bit like my sixth-nestling-hindmother, twice
removed," Ximerfell-Captain observed.
"Huh?" Cindy said, twisting around in puzzlement.
"One of my relatives,"Ximerfell-Captain said dryly.
"Oh," Cindy said, and turned back to the screen, rapt.
"And a royal pain in the pin-feathers. And I mean that literally,"
Ximerfell-Captain whispered to Sam.
Sam laughed. "Let me report in. You seem to have a fan in Cindy."
"That's why you, a sociologist, invited me to Christmas Eve dinner,"
Ximerfell-Captain murmured. "We have to get to know each other. Mission
accomplished. Or on the way to being."
Sam keyed the intercom unit on his wrist. He wore a compact
headset with an inconspicuous mike. A miniscule vidcam was mounted
above one ear like a pen.
"Sam here," Sam said, soto voce. "Cindy loves him. She thinks he
looks like Big Bird."
In his earpiece, Carol Jundersen's voice laughed in a lilting Swedish
accent.
"Now that's going to make my bosses happy," Jundersen said,
sounding relieved. "After the Turkevar fiasco they had their worries."
The back room in the basement had been filled to the ceiling with all
manner of video, sound, communications, and computer equipment. And
the three-person United Nations Contact Team to run it all. The whole
dinner would be monitored and recorded, with the Ximerfell's permission.
"So the Turkevar have claws and teeth to make a tiger run away,"
Sam said. "That's not their fault. Their sense of humour is great."
"Sure scared the snot out of the kids in China."
"Yeah. Pity. But the Russian kids liked the Turkevar. Thought they
were just big wolves with purple fur."
"Refreshing compared to the Oeyvina. Predator squids with claws 'n fangs?
And incredibly good diplomats? Wow."
"Signing off. Gail will have dinner ready soon. I'm going to go help
and leave Cindy to play with Ximerfell-Captain."
"Okay on this end. Send us a plate or two when you carve the turkey.
One day early, but special occasion, eh?"
"Will do."
Sam keyed off and looked at Ximerfell-Captain. For sure, they'd made
certain to check the menu with the Ximerfell first. The idea of having a
bird over for dinner, then eating a bird for dinner, could have been a
problem.
But the Ximerfell ate meat too. Hey, protein is protein, they had said.
Where you get it is none of our business. So long as we don't end up
snacking on each other everything's fine.
Sam smiled thinly. No doubt certain unscrupulous execs at Kentucky
Fried Chicken were wondering how well the Ximerfell might fit in a
cardboard bucket.
But that would probably be a decided breach of diplomatic immunity.
The giant ship had cruised into the solar system six months ago,
broadcasting greetings on every frequency in the electromagnetic
spectrum from radio to X-rays, even to semaphore code with giant
blinking red lasers.
After communications had been established and everybody had
gotten over the shock, the United Nations had stepped in and taken
charge.
The Ship was on an economic and political mission to welcome Earth
into the Galactic Union. And not one but dozens of different types of aliens
emerged from the shuttlecraft that landed in New York, Washington,
Beijing, London, and elsewhere. The aliens were nothing if not ferocious
tourists.
There was more life and other races in the galaxy than anybody could
count. And now humans were being invited to take part in the community
of worlds that was the GU. This would be a tricky process. Serious
understatement, there.
"I'm going to help Gail in the kitchen. Cindy, can you play with
Ximerfell-Captain for a while?" Sam asked.
"Sure," Cindy said, and looked at Ximerfell-Captain. "Do you want to
play with me?" she asked shyly.
"Of course I do," Ximerfell-Captain said cheerfully. "Can't think of
anything better to do until we eat dinner."
"I'm just a little kid," Cindy said slowly. "Are you sure you won't be
bored? I know you're a lot smarter than me."
Ximerfell-Captain reached up with a wing and gestured. "Nope. Cross
my heart and hope to die."
Thank the gods for the briefing on body language, Ximerfell-Captain
thought. It made the problem of communication so much easier.
But that problem would be solved tonight. Or so Ximerfell-Captain
hoped. Unconsciously, he patted his belly-pouch where Cindy's Christmas
gift was hidden.
Oh yes, a lot of problems would be solved after tonight. Assuming,
that is, that the Ship's Computer had read these humans correctly.
And if not...?
Ximerfell-Captain suppressed a shiver. Captains get paid to take
risks. Keep repeating that slogan, over and over, until you believe it.
What a stupid slogan, Ximerfell-Captain thought sourly to himself.
"Come on up to my room and I'll show you all my Sesame Street
stuff," Cindy chirped. She turned and scooted for the stairs.
A minute later, the little girl and the alien were sitting on Cindy's bed
poring over a Sesame Street coloring book. Cindy was proudly turning
pages and chattering brightly.
"And this is Elmo, he's my favourite, he's so funny and red and furry,
an' he's just a little kid like me, I want to meet him someday when we go
on vacation next summer and this is..."
Ximerfell-Captain nodded and tweeped appropriately for a few
moments. Then he opened a telepathic channel.
"[Do you have enough to synthesize and fool the surveillance?]"
Ximerfell-Captain asked.
The little computer in Cindy's 'gift' woke up. "[Yes. All they'll see is us
looking at the colouring book,]" it said.
"[Good work. Give me two minutes.]"
"Cindy, may I ask you something?" Ximerfell-Captain cut in, when the
little girl finally had to pause for a breath.
"What?" Cindy asked, her blue eyes looking up.
Ximerfell-Captain bent lower a bit. "Would you like one of your
Christmas presents one night early? I did bring you one, you know."
Cindy's eyes opened wide. "Ohhh, do you have Christmas too where
you come from?"
Ximerfell-Captain chuckled. "No, but it's always polite to bring a gift
when you visit someone. I just thought I'd make it a Christmas present.
Do you want it now?"
The Ship's Computer had calculated the probability of her saying no
to be...
"Oh yes, yes, yes, yes!!!" Cindy squealed happily, and began
bouncing up and down on the bed.
...Far smaller than zero. "All right," Ximerfell-Captain smiled (or on
his beak it looked like a smile). "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."
The little girl scrunched her eyes tight and held out both hands in a cup.
This was it. Ximerfell-Captain pulled the gift out of his pouch and
placed it in Cindy's hands.
The marble-sized machine went to work. A microscopic probe
painlessly injected the dose of genetically engineered bacteria. The
synthetic microorganisms poured into Cindy's bloodstream, skipped
through the blood-brain barrier as if there wasn't one, and went straight
to the pre-planned target sites in her brain.
Before the little girl had time to open her eyes, the artificial lifeforms
had constructed the neural network necessary for telepathy. Then they
died and vanished.
The computer opened a channel and began the data dump.
Knowledge rushed over the link. Floods and floods of knowledge.
Whole libraries worth. Every scrap of information and data the Ship's
Computer could think of, that might be valuable, had been compressed
and stored and put into a form the little girl's mind could use.
To call it an avalanche would've been another understatement. Cindy
stiffened. Ximerfell-Captain watched carefully.
But it was over in moments. Ximerfell-Captain held his breath.
Slowly, Cindy opened her eyes and looked up steadily at
Ximerfell-Captain, no longer with the gaze of a six-year old.
She opened a telepathic channel.
"[In a fraction of a heartbeat, you have given me vast knowledge of
the Universe,]" Cindy said coolly. "[You have changed me, and robbed me
of the next few years of my childhood with this knowledge. Why?]"
Ah yes: Right here. If it was all going to fall into the Sun and
explode, it would start right here...
"[Use what you now know to answer that,]" Ximerfell-Captain said
calmly (though hardly so on the inside). "[The answer is a simple one.]"
Cindy thought for a long second. Then she blinked. "[Oh. Right. The
First Contact problem.]"
Ximerfell-Captain nodded. "[Wherever you go in the Universe, you're
going to meet alien cultures that are either at your technological and
social level, above your level, or...]"
"[...Below your technosocial level.]" Cindy finished slowly. "[In which
case you run the risk of destroying that alien culture by even so much as
letting them know you exist. They're roadkill, deer in the headlights, their
entire society destabilized and demolished by the torrent of new technology
and knowledge.]"
Cindy stared up at the alien bird. "[Hey, wait a minute! That's us,
isn't it?]" she said in horror. She reached up and felt her forehead.
"[Telepathy, for God's sake. That alone is going to kick over sooo many
applecarts...]"
"[Not if we can help it,]" Ximerfell-Captain cut in sharply. "[We've
been in the First Contact business for a long time. This is the solution the
Ship's Computer has recommended.]"
Cindy's jaw dropped in disbelief. "[What, dropping gigatons of data
into the minds of children? Without a milligram of consent? What the hell
kind of a solution is that?]" she squeaked in outrage.
Ximerfell-Captain twittered sharply, the human equivalent of a wry
laugh. "[And if we did it to adults?]"
Cindy opened her mouth. Then paused. Then shut it glumly.
"[Ho-kay, point for you. Destabilization, all over the landscape. Whoever
gets the treatment becomes as like a god, knowledge-wise. And who
decides who gets it, and what knowledge, and at what price? And
culturally it sucks. 'Hi, we're super-smart aliens from outer space. Stick
your ignorant brains into this magic box for a second. We can fix you.']"
Cindy shuddered. "[Hope you guys have body armour that's good
against hydrogen bombs. You might need it with us.]"
"[Like I said, not if we can help it,]" Ximerfell-Captain murmured
serenely. "[Remember now, I did say this was a Christmas gift. Although
certainly not an obvious one.]"
Cindy looked blank. "[Think it through,]" Ximerfell-Captain urged.
Cindy reflected. "[Well, I now know everything there is to know about
the Galactic Union,]" she said slowly. "[I could travel to any planet,
around any star, and I'd have everything I need to know at my fingertips.
Everything about it's people, the society, the languages, the politics, the
economy..."]
Cindy put a small finger to her chin in a gesture that was in no way
the gesture of a child.
"[And when I grow older, I could do such traveling, couldn't I?]"
Cindy mused.
Then it hit her, and the human child looked up at the alien, mixed
wonder and awe in her eyes.
"[That's the gift, isn't it?]" Cindy breathed with joy. "[You have given
me the stars!!]"
"Merry Christmas, Cindy," Ximerfell-Captain whispered fondly out
loud to the new human diplomat.
--- Fin.
Jul 30/14
=============================================================================
Category Story / All
Species Avian (Other)
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 24.5 kB
When I'm on my SF game, I am *on.* A not-a-fur story, that just happens to have a sorta
fur MC.
Commentary on this one will have some things to say about that.
Stalled novel where Ximerfell-Captain came from should be dusted off, restarted,
furrified. Theme was *heavily* sexual; might go down well around here? Oh yah. :- >
fur MC.
Commentary on this one will have some things to say about that.
Stalled novel where Ximerfell-Captain came from should be dusted off, restarted,
furrified. Theme was *heavily* sexual; might go down well around here? Oh yah. :- >
Might be room for some more 'colour,' from the Captain's point of view. First time he's
seen the inside of a human home. What does he see and how does he react?
Beyond that, expansion could turn it into a very different story.
Oviously there's a *ton* of stuff before the events here. And afterwards. How to keep
that from intruding on the core plot? More or less insert a synopsis in the middle.
Then Bang! Zoom! Straight to the snap ending, and the last sentence that resolves the
piece. If I could write more short stories like this I'd be a richer SF writer.
Stay tuned for the Journal tomorrow. More to say about this. And thank you.
seen the inside of a human home. What does he see and how does he react?
Beyond that, expansion could turn it into a very different story.
Oviously there's a *ton* of stuff before the events here. And afterwards. How to keep
that from intruding on the core plot? More or less insert a synopsis in the middle.
Then Bang! Zoom! Straight to the snap ending, and the last sentence that resolves the
piece. If I could write more short stories like this I'd be a richer SF writer.
Stay tuned for the Journal tomorrow. More to say about this. And thank you.
This is an excellent SF short story. Even though you drop the reader right in the thick of the plot, you give enough information to let the reader kind of fill in the blanks. And then keep feeding details so it enhances and expands that kernel of information. Well done, I would be interested in seeing more of this.
There's more where this came from. Maybe four-five older SF pieces that are fur-related
in some way.
Then after that a bucketful that can be 'furrified,' similar to what I did to Betty
Heavy (located Here.)
Ironically, all the fur writing for SexyFur--that was supposed to be short--blew up instantly
to novella/novel size. SF content there too; wait for it.
And thanx. As the saying goes, tell your friends. :- )
in some way.
Then after that a bucketful that can be 'furrified,' similar to what I did to Betty
Heavy (located Here.)
Ironically, all the fur writing for SexyFur--that was supposed to be short--blew up instantly
to novella/novel size. SF content there too; wait for it.
And thanx. As the saying goes, tell your friends. :- )
Yup, thought this'd make ears go poing. As for 'read this one to Mevrea,' this is
only a practical project if I know who Mevrea is. Can haz mo' data, pls? :- )
And from the use of the term 'read,' am I to jump-to-newbie-conclusion that FM is a
*verbal* thing? As in voice, as in we're talking [literally] about delivering work-as-speech,
not as text. This is muck neo here, remember.
This is not a jump-to-conclusion I'll put any cred on, but the concept does make ears go
poing on this end. And/or this turns my mind to speech-to-text software, on top of the
muck technology; less typos, maybe. You mentioned how muck clients display text, sooo...
's all got nuthin' to do with voice? (Drat. Done shipping-containers-worth of public
speaking; good at it).
That said, TY tha appreciate re. Bird, and forgot to say, equal TY re. Showing Off. Broke
more'n a few poen lit rules, but in the end got away with it. Donna can say the same
about her end, come to think of it [mild pun :- ) ].
Since Tuesday arrives soon, and I doubt I'll be set up muck-wise before then, by all means
deliver Bird on my behalf as you please. And pencil it in as an intro to the group,
pending me jumping-up-and-down on some new software that I'm *sure* will work just
spiffy the first time out.
(Ha!! :- ) )
fwbrown61
only a practical project if I know who Mevrea is. Can haz mo' data, pls? :- )
And from the use of the term 'read,' am I to jump-to-newbie-conclusion that FM is a
*verbal* thing? As in voice, as in we're talking [literally] about delivering work-as-speech,
not as text. This is muck neo here, remember.
This is not a jump-to-conclusion I'll put any cred on, but the concept does make ears go
poing on this end. And/or this turns my mind to speech-to-text software, on top of the
muck technology; less typos, maybe. You mentioned how muck clients display text, sooo...
's all got nuthin' to do with voice? (Drat. Done shipping-containers-worth of public
speaking; good at it).
That said, TY tha appreciate re. Bird, and forgot to say, equal TY re. Showing Off. Broke
more'n a few poen lit rules, but in the end got away with it. Donna can say the same
about her end, come to think of it [mild pun :- ) ].
Since Tuesday arrives soon, and I doubt I'll be set up muck-wise before then, by all means
deliver Bird on my behalf as you please. And pencil it in as an intro to the group,
pending me jumping-up-and-down on some new software that I'm *sure* will work just
spiffy the first time out.
(Ha!! :- ) )

http://www.furrymuck.com/ is the URL of the main site,
http://www.softwaresea.com/Windows/.....5-10286791.htm a good if older client that I use.
Mevrea is a Badger girl who runs the Owlhaven Literary Lounge. talk to her, and she will put you on the list to receive the Log, which is the recording of the stories on any given Tuesday. you don't have to be there to read it, so if RL calls you away that day, you still get to read what happened. this assumes your able to get on.
http://www.softwaresea.com/Windows/.....5-10286791.htm a good if older client that I use.
Mevrea is a Badger girl who runs the Owlhaven Literary Lounge. talk to her, and she will put you on the list to receive the Log, which is the recording of the stories on any given Tuesday. you don't have to be there to read it, so if RL calls you away that day, you still get to read what happened. this assumes your able to get on.
Whoo-hoo!! We have a winner. :- ) Good to hear.
If by 'posted there' you mean the .ODT file, bueno. If you mean a copy of the .HTML pages, not
sure if that's optimal. All work posted here has been specifically/carefully formated to look good
on FA, and might look fubar on it's own.
Just a link to the story: That's obviously perfectly kosher.
Study on MUCK's, and FurryMUCK's documentation, has yielded [moderate] enlightenment. FM
describes itself as a 'game space,' allowing everyone to roleplay fursonas and simulate
activities and social interactions within various created 'environments.' As if I knew
this before now. As if I've got much of a fursona to roleplay. :- /
It's out of things like FM that we get things like Second Life, that does it all in a
graphics 'n avatar kind of way. FM et al did it first. And does it with a *daunting* command
language that lets users take actions within the MUCK, and create and manage various
environments.
Which can and do all have specific command-sets of their own, since the MUCK allows users
to write scripts/programs that define the things that can be done in those environments.
Somebody's put in a lottta hacking to make all this work. Duh. :- )
Good thing I'm a programmer; this is not foreign to me. Still, 'mo time/study needed to wrap
head around alla this. Lessee where I am by next Tuesday, and maybe with another story to show
off. At the least, gotta think about just how much I'll be able to actually participate in FM.
Beyond, that is, just dropping in every so often with some text or something.
FM is a social space, and people/furs come to it to 'be social.' In a virtual way. Ditto for
FA. And even here I'm cautious 'n careful about everything, since one wrong footpaw can
create some real time-wasting aggro, and not that fake aggro you can buy at Sears. Also, I
suppose I type too much. I don't write comments, I write letters.
Does it show? :- )
fwbrown61
PS: Reply to other PM: For later.
If by 'posted there' you mean the .ODT file, bueno. If you mean a copy of the .HTML pages, not
sure if that's optimal. All work posted here has been specifically/carefully formated to look good
on FA, and might look fubar on it's own.
Just a link to the story: That's obviously perfectly kosher.
Study on MUCK's, and FurryMUCK's documentation, has yielded [moderate] enlightenment. FM
describes itself as a 'game space,' allowing everyone to roleplay fursonas and simulate
activities and social interactions within various created 'environments.' As if I knew
this before now. As if I've got much of a fursona to roleplay. :- /
It's out of things like FM that we get things like Second Life, that does it all in a
graphics 'n avatar kind of way. FM et al did it first. And does it with a *daunting* command
language that lets users take actions within the MUCK, and create and manage various
environments.
Which can and do all have specific command-sets of their own, since the MUCK allows users
to write scripts/programs that define the things that can be done in those environments.
Somebody's put in a lottta hacking to make all this work. Duh. :- )
Good thing I'm a programmer; this is not foreign to me. Still, 'mo time/study needed to wrap
head around alla this. Lessee where I am by next Tuesday, and maybe with another story to show
off. At the least, gotta think about just how much I'll be able to actually participate in FM.
Beyond, that is, just dropping in every so often with some text or something.
FM is a social space, and people/furs come to it to 'be social.' In a virtual way. Ditto for
FA. And even here I'm cautious 'n careful about everything, since one wrong footpaw can
create some real time-wasting aggro, and not that fake aggro you can buy at Sears. Also, I
suppose I type too much. I don't write comments, I write letters.
Does it show? :- )

PS: Reply to other PM: For later.
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