Why Humans Make Bad Pets!

I'm a walking petri dish

"Hey Fttfk, did you just get your ass kicked at your own game by Cqcq'trtr?" Strrk asked, stupidly.

+*No, he just decided that he wanted to hold your hand and you managed to find enough sapience in that empty skull of yours to beat me all on your own. Of course Cqcq'trtr beat me.*+ thought Fttfk. He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mind's metaphysical mouth, but Cqcq'trtr had indeed managed to beat him in warrens. Not only beat him, but completely destroy him. Fttfk, not for the first time, considered quickly and quietly silencing Strrk before he could tell anyone else.

Too late. Strrk's idiocy, easily outpacing all rational thought, prompted him to open his mouth and shout "Everyone, Fttfk just lost. And he did it to Cqcq'trtr!" If there was one thing that could be said about Strrk, it was that he was honest. He really didn't have the sense to be anything else. So when he said something, even something as ridiculous as his last utterance, everyone came to see what he had misunderstood to believe something as ridiculous as Fttfk losing to Cqcq'trtr.

The board-emitter, seeming to revel in Fttfk's defeat, cheerfully started another game, beeping the signal to begin the torment. Fttfk could have sworn that beep sounded like the maniacal laughter of a slave reveling in the downfall of its master. He mentally kicked the emitter, which didn't seem to care in the slightest about his imagined abuses. The crew members relaxing in the newly acquired ship's common lounge gathered around the odd trio encircling the board-emitter.

Fttfk considered not starting the game. After all, the first move was his, and he could plead exhaustion. Glancing at the numerous spectators, though, he realized he couldn't turn back now, or else everyone would think he had somehow lost to Strrk. After all, how could Cqcq'trtr have beaten him? Almost trying to answer that question himself, he moved his first piece. The game spiraled into the abyss from there. Cqcq'trtr demonstrated even more skill with the predatory pieces than he had with those of the prey. Nearly every turn Fttfk lost the maximum number of pieces he was able to lose a turn, resulting in one of the most expedient and humiliating games in Fttfk's memory.

As Cqcq'trtr, through a Strrk who was all too happy to give up the need to think, mercilessly exterminated Fttfk's last few pieces, Fttfk looked into Cqcq'trtr's eyes and saw for the first time the intelligence lurking beneath, parsing together the most efficient and ruthless way to annihilate any remaining chance of Fttfk's victory. Others in the crew were noticing it as well. As the oldest, albeit grouchiest person on board, Fttfk wondered how he'd never seen it before. Even worse, however, he wondered what this creature would do. Not only to this ship and everyone aboard, but to the galaxy, once his species reached the stars.

Fttfk immediately stifled the overly preachy and humorless thought. Damn, he was getting wishy-washy in his old age.

+*I'll have to watch out for tha-*+

"You ok Strrk?" asked Rccw, interrupting Fttfk's cautionary thought. He looked at Strrk, who had been growing progressively quiet as the game had progressed. He had just assumed that Strrk had finally started realizing what Cqcq'trtr's actions implied, but as he looked at him, he could see there was something wrong. Strrk's eyes had started to water, although he could have been crying over his ill-fated genetics. His nose was beginning to run as though clearing the remnants his brain had left behind upon its departure, and he continued to clear his throat with a vigor that suggested he had stuck an entire Dizi rat down there. Then it got worse.

Dear Journal,

I'm a walking petri dish.

From Earth.

After I finished the first game, Whip looked stunned and sour at the same time, but he'd looked sour since I'd first laid eyes on him, so I think he was just stunned. I smiled at him - it was not a smirk; I'm not that kind of guy - saying, "Care for another game?" I don't think he did, but Dippy click-shouted something excitedly which brought everyone in the lounge over to our table, trapping Whip into another match as the clam ruthlessly started another game. I dominated the board from the first turn, and the game was over in a mere 5 minutes. I smiled as I heard shocked and incredulous clicks from the onlookers; at least, that's what I hoped those clicks were. My thoughts left the game and surrounding blue-giraffes when a sound like that of a cat with an entire mouse and its extended family lodged in its throat made me glance back at my unwilling assistant.

Dippy looked awful. He hadn't said much, and I had assumed this to mean he had accepted his fate, but now he was hacking, sniffing, wiping his eyes, and trying to click at the same time. He had started to shake, making him look even more like a h****n addict. I let go of his hand as he got up, watching as he tottered towards the exit in the direction of the living quarters, when his entire body convulsed. At first I thought he was pitching backwards, head-first, perhaps attempting a back-flip. He suddenly whipped his head forward, which had nearly been on his back, and expelled what was unmistakably a colossal blue-giraffe sneeze, barely managing to avoid slamming his head into the ground in front of him.

This was followed by a second sneeze, and a third, each time throwing his head from one extreme to the other. At first I hoped that he was merely expressing his previously repressed passion for heavy metal, but as sneeze after sneeze racked his body, I thought his obsession had perhaps gone too far. I didn't think he'd survive a metal concert, anyway. The others watching apparently seemed to be of the same opinion. Several rushed over to Dippy, who I quickly renamed Drippy on account of his nose's desire to join a marathon. Helping him stand, as he'd just fallen to his knees in rapture for his love of music, several yet unnamed blue-giraffes led him toward the direction of the sickbay.

"Odd that. So, about this game you guys have here. Do we need to play another one, or have I made my point?"